XCalibre Trilogy Part 1:Long Hard Road Out of Hell
by Bethany Paige Price
Summary: AU. Age of Apocalypse Nightcrawler has a 2nd shot at life. What will he do with it? FINISHED.
1. Miriam

Author's Notes: This is an alternate universe fic in which Nightcrawler from the Age of Apocalypse lands in a world that is very different from what he's used to. Nightcrawler belongs to Marvel Comics, and I claim no hold to him or anything else referenced from the Marvel Universe. Miriam is mine and shall remain so until someone comes to my house with a briefcase bulging with many greenbacks displaying double digits. Until then, please ask if you'd like to borrow her or something . . .  
  
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"He who can't endure the bad won't live to see the good." ~ Yiddish proverb  
  
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To say he caught me by surprise is a serious understatement. I'd gone to check on the noise in the alley and been rewarded with a choke hold for my trouble.  
  
"Where are we?" his voice rasped into my ear, stubble scratching my neck. I brought my right hand slowly to my hip.  
  
"You're about two seconds from dead." I brought the gun up to his head, my finger on the trigger.  
  
There was a contained explosion and he was gone; in the next instant he was in front of me instead of behind me. He'd drawn a sword and held it to my neck as he pushed me against the wall.  
  
"Ich denke nicht, Fraulein. The gun. Now."  
  
"Zum Teufel," I spat defiantly at his shadowed form and aimed for his head again.  
  
He laughed darkly and then - I'm not making this up - his tail wrapped around my wrist and forced my arm down.  
  
"Give me the gun."  
  
I could see why he laughed. I'd told him to go to the Devil, but as he stepped part of the way into the weak light of the street lamp I saw that he looked like the Devil himself. He looked blue-black except for his yellow eyes and white fangs. . . I swallowed my scream, and dropped the gun.  
  
"Sehr gut," he purred, smiling a little. "Now, where are we?"  
  
I stared back into his eyes, horrified and mesmerized at the same time. I informed him of which block he was on, but that didn't help him. I told him the city, and he seemed both shocked and upset.  
  
"Can't be," he muttered, frowning. "Charleston is in ruins. . ."  
  
We both looked up at the sound of voices and boots clicking on the pavement. He seemed unconcerned, but I knew who they were.  
  
"Oh no!" I whispered, eyes wide.  
  
"What is it?" the demon asked, eyes narrow as he assessed the threat.  
  
"Polizei!" It was past curfew, and I had no reason to be outside. This was bad.  
  
"Auf wiedersehen," he disappeared again, the magic trick making another explosion. As I feared, the noise drew the attention of the soldiers into the alleyway.  
  
"You there!" one of them called to me. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Just heading inside, sir," I raised my hands to show I wasn't carrying a weapon. It occurred to me that if they looked around at all, they'd see one lying on the ground. I hoped they wouldn't look.  
  
"Your papers," the second man demanded.  
  
"They're-they're inside," I stammered. "I heard something that sounded like an explosion and ran outside to check on it-"  
  
The first soldier walked up to me, took hold of my arm, and pushed the sleeve up to reveal my star.  
  
"You know the law, Jew. You know the penalty of being out past curfew."  
  
"I'm very sorry, mein Herr. I'll be certain it does not happen again." I felt my heart hammering. He could kill me now or send me off to the Camps, and no one would be able to save me from it.  
  
"Let's go." He gestured his companion over to take hold of my other arm. I closed my eyes and started praying. It's morbid I know, but I began praying that they'd honor me with a single bullet to the brain and spare me the indignities of confinement.  
  
The first soldier stopped when he trod on something unusual. He stooped down and picked up the gun I'd held moments earlier.  
  
"Well now . . . What would you be doing in an alley with a gun, little Jew?"  
  
"I have no idea where it came from-"  
  
But he was already shaking his head and tsking at me as though I were a small child caught stealing a cookie from the jar.  
  
"What do you do for that worthless resistance, liebchen? Run passports? Hide others of your race? Hmm?" His eyes were kind despite his questioning. "You're too pretty to waste your life on that, you know."  
  
The second soldier smirked, knowing what was coming. He walked to the entry of the alleyway so that the man could have his privacy with me.  
  
"Now, don't be like that. If you do what I want, I won't hurt you . . . much." He cupped my face in his hand and ran his thumb along my trembling lower lip. I let out a whimper when he pushed me into the same wall the demon had trapped me against moments before, his body pressed lewdly against mine. I closed my eyes when he pressed his lips to mine, when he parted my lips with the thumb that was still there so his tongue could delve into my mouth. As he kissed me I heard him loosening his trousers, then his left hand ran under my skirt and up my thighs. His right hand held both my wrists to the bricks above my head.  
  
I heard the explosion again and once more in quick succession, and the soldier let me go. More accurately, his body slumped to the pavement leaving me free to scramble out of the way. Of course the soldier guarding the alley heard it too, and he turned around to see what had caused the disturbance.  
  
"Here, Herr Soldat. Catch!" the demon threw my would-be rapist's head to the still-living man, who caught it out of instinct and dropped it in disgust. The soldier punched a button on his belt and drew his weapon but it was gone in an instant, along with the hand holding it. He began to scream in pain and, I imagine, some amount of fear; the demon slit his throat with the sword he'd drawn on me earlier.  
  
Then he turned back into the alley and moved towards me.  
  
"Get away from me!!" I shrieked, no longer caring about attracting attention. I was a dead woman walking. . . a Jew out at night, with two dead SS in front of me, one of whom had turned on his GPS for backup. I wasn't going to survive the night.  
  
He was on me in a second, his hands grabbing me roughly so that I couldn't get away. One hand clapped over my mouth, the other around my waist, and the tail wrapped around my arms to keep them at my sides. As if that weren't bad enough, reality went away for a split second.  
  
The alley blinked away and was replaced by a void of some kind, and then another part of the city blinked into place before my eyes. I felt queasy, but that was the least of my concerns. The demon still had me.  
  
"Stop struggling!" he squeezed me tighter for emphasis, his voice in my ear once more. "Stop it!"  
  
I closed my eyes and ceased all voluntary movement. I felt his exhalations slow against my skin as he himself calmed down a little.  
  
"I will let go of you and I expect that you will not make any noise," he whispered. "I care about my life more than yours and if you jeopardize my position, I will kill you. Verstehen Sie?"  
  
I nodded my understanding. He unwrapped his tail first, then his arms, and he took a step back. I took one forward and turned to see him if I could.  
  
He was more frightening in the light somehow. He was tall and thin - not the pinched thinness of a starving resident of the ghettos, but wiry - and dark. Everything about him seemed to absorb light except for the weird yellow eyes that almost glowed and the armor he wore over his arms and legs. His dark hair was wild and fell in waves to his shoulders. He had some kind of marking over his left eye; large tapered ears; oddly shaped feet and hands; and the tail was a few feet long with a pointed end. It moved almost of its own accord as I examined him.  
  
He was looking over me as well, his eyes narrowed in calculation once more. I swallowed nervously and asked what he intended to do with me.  
  
"I don't know yet," he answered softly, the tip of his tail between his lips the same way one would absently chew on a fingernail in idle thought. "What was all that about back there? What resistance was he talking about?"  
  
I blinked a few times before answering, choosing my words carefully. "There are rumors of a resistance movement against the government. They're supposed to be smuggling people out to minority-friendly pockets where the government isn't so strong. Some have said guerrilla actions against the Reich are being executed as well."  
  
He shook his head as though shaking loose mental cobwebs. "Did you call the government a Reich?"  
  
"You're not from around here, are you?" I whispered. He shook his head and waited for me to continue. "The Third Reich. The Nazi government installed by Fuhrer Hitler after he won the second Great War." I hesitated before asking, "You do know about the Great Wars, right?"  
  
The demon's eyes finally grew wide. "Wait-You're saying the Allies lost World War Two to the Axis??"  
  
"Well. . . Yes." I blinked again. How could that possibly be news to him?  
  
"Mein Gott." He closed the gap between us. "Your arm. . ."  
  
I showed him the Star of David tattooed on the underside of my forearm, near the wrist. "Too many of us refused to wear the patches after a while."  
  
He stared at the blue mark for a moment before looking over my shoulder to the horizon. "Is there any place safe in the States from the Nazis?"  
  
"No, not really. If you're lucky enough to find an Underground stop, you're safe for a time, but . . ." I shrugged.  
  
"What about Canada?"  
  
"If you can make it past the border, past the inhabited provinces, and into the Territories, you might stand a chance. I hear it's tough living though. No power, no running water . . ."  
  
He seemed to be considering this information for a moment. "Does the Reich accept mutants or does it kill them?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Mutants. How do we fit into society here?" He looked at me again.  
  
I shook my head slowly. "I don't know what you mean by mutant. Deformed children are killed at birth or as soon as they're discovered. . ."  
  
"Genetic mutants," he pressed with what I figured passed for patience with him. "Others like myself. Humans with powers."  
  
My heart began to pound again. This thing was human? But. . . I gaped at him. "I've never heard of anyone being able to do anything superhuman. I . . . I'm not sure how the Reich would react to someth-someone like you. Considering you just murdered two of their soldiers, they'd probably put you in a death camp if they didn't execute you outright."  
  
He nodded, the set of his mouth hard. I stared out over the city as the silence stretched on. The night wind was cold and I wrapped my arms around myself to keep warm; he seemed unaffected by the chill.  
  
"I should thank you," I finally spoke because one of us had to. The quiet was simply maddening to me.  
  
He turned around and regarded me calmly. "Oh?"  
  
"You saved my dignity and my life. Thank you."  
  
He kept staring me for a few beats. I had the distinct impression that he was not accustomed to being thanked for things. Finally, "You're welcome, Fraulein."  
  
The tense silence descended again before I broke it again. "Have you decided what you're going to do with me?"  
  
"If I take you back you'll die, ja?"  
  
"Yes." I shivered again.  
  
He nodded. "But you're part of this resistance movement. If anyone could help me survive this world, you would." He smirked as I opened my mouth to question his assumption. "You obviously want to live. I can keep you breathing. You'd be a fool to refuse my offer."  
  
The memory of what the soldier wanted from me returned and my cheeks flushed. "And what is the cost of my continued life?"  
  
"I'm not like that animal." He frowned as though I'd voiced my speculation aloud. Could he read minds? "I won't ask anything like that of you. All you have to do is provide information. I'll take care of the rest."  
  
There was nothing to consider, really. Even if he'd said he wanted to sleep with me, I'd have taken him up on it if he said he'd keep me alive and get me to safety in exchange for such services. The instinct to keep living is strong indeed.  
  
"It's a deal," I steeled myself and offered my hand for him to shake. He hesitated before clasping my hand with his.  
  
"Is there a safe house nearby?" he asked as he let go of my hand.  
  
"The closest one is across town, about twelve miles from here." I licked my lips nervously. "If I describe where it is, can you do that blinking thing and get us there?"  
  
"Nein," he shook his head. "I have to see where I'm going, and it has to be under a mile away when I'm teleporting only myself. With you, maybe three quarters of a mile at best." He sighed. "We'll have to go on foot and save my powers for trouble spots."  
  
I swallowed at the lump in my throat. This was too much. I mean, it sounded like this kind of covert traveling was old hat to him. What else was he capable of besides moving in shadows and killing people? Did I want to see it?  
  
"Let's go." He rolled his shoulders and moved towards the fire escape on the edge of the roof he'd transported us to.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Entshuldigen?"  
  
"What's your name?" I asked again as I walked to the fire escape after him. "I don't know what to call you."  
  
"Nightcrawler." He stepped over onto the ladder. "What is your name?"  
  
"Miriam Shaham." I watched him descend partway down before following. He was all business . . . this was going to be a long night. 


	2. Miriam

To his credit, Nightcrawler got us to the safe house without incident. The journey took a few hours, but I'm not complaining . . . incident free, teleport free, hassle free. He moved quickly and with an almost feline grace. There were a few times when he clung to the walls of the buildings, creeping across them like a spider as though gravity were non-existent to take better advantage of the shadows. That was a bit unnerving, let me tell you. He was doing that right now as a matter of fact, hanging onto the wall above the door of the safe house.  
  
"Yes? Who is it?" an old woman's voice called through the oak door.  
  
"Abby Freemantle," I replied, giving the code for the seeking of refuge. I heard the bolts slide open and a moment later Mama Abigail had the door open.  
  
"Come on in, child, and tell me what has you calling so late," she stepped aside to let us pass.  
  
"Thank you, Mama," I murmured, gesturing to Nightcrawler. He silently flipped over and through the door to stand beside me in the living room. "Everyone else is asleep?" I asked softly, noticing the lack of people.  
  
"God willing, they are. It's early morning, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes . . ." I peered at the clock on the mantle. "Almost three o' clock. Are you still having trouble sleeping?"  
  
"Now don't you worry about an old woman's crazy hours," she was re-locking the door with agile fingers. "You sit down by that fire and introduce me to your friend and tell me how you're at my door all hours of the night."  
  
I noticed Nightcrawler's momentary surprise that Mama Abigail seemed unfazed by his appearance, then his understanding when he realized she was blind. He crouched in front of the fire, warming his hands. I sat next to Mama on the couch.  
  
"Mama Abigail, this is Nightcrawler. Nightcrawler, this is Mama Abigail. She's in charge of this stop on the Underground."  
  
"Thank you for your hospitality." Nightcrawler had turned to face her.  
  
"We do what we can," Mama replied amiably. "Are you hungry, Nightcrawler? Miriam?"  
  
"I'm fine, Mama. Thank you," I smiled a little bit. My "friend" said that it had been a while since his last proper meal and that he'd appreciate a bite to eat. We followed Mama into the kitchen where she heated up a plate of brisket, mashed potatoes, and ladled out some soup that was still on low heat on the stove. As Nightcrawler ate I told Mama about the night's events. When I was done Mama turned in her chair to face him.  
  
"That's quite a trick, to travel in such a way. How do you do it?"  
  
"I look to someplace else I'd rather be and make my self go there." He speared another chunk of brisket, chewed, and swallowed before continuing. "Beyond that, I really can't say. I'm not sure of the physics of it, I just know it works." He washed the brisket down with some of the water Mama had set before him. "I mentioned briefly to Miriam that I am human, but mutated. I am not the same as other people."  
  
"What caused your mutation, if you don't mind my asking?" Mama's voice was gentle.  
  
Nightcrawler seemed to be considering the question. "Genetics. My parents are both mutants as well, able to do things other humans can't. Their parents were mutants, or someone elsewhere in the lineage was. Anyhow, where I am from mutancy is caused by the activation of a chromosome on the DNA strand that is normally dormant. It activates for us when puberty hits, and remains with us for life. Most of us are lucky and develop some kind of special ability."  
  
"And the rest of you?" I asked, eyes wide with curiosity.  
  
"The rest of us just get the angry end of the ugly stick."  
  
I blinked a few times, not quite knowing what to say. I knew what I wanted to say, but well, that was rude and he HAD saved my life.  
  
"Und for the record, I was born looking this way," he smirked and speared another slice of brisket.  
  
I blushed. Not that Mama could see it, but I think she knew.  
  
After dinner Mama showed Nightcrawler to the washroom so he could shower and make himself more comfortable. While he was thus indisposed, she asked me to describe him to her. She wanted to know what reaction others could be expected to have to him. I was both as honest and as charitable as I could be, and Mama still understood - most everyone would freak out at least a little at seeing a demon boarding with them until the next guide along the Underground came along.  
  
"Well, it seems we'll have to keep you two separated from the others," Mama responded calmly. "There is a small room in the attic that you can use."  
  
Small actually meant tiny. It was a closet with a narrow bed in it - no windows, no other furniture except for a crude table large enough to hold an oil lamp. It was meant to give hidden shelter, and only that.  
  
"This is it?" Nightcrawler grimaced as he took in our lodgings.  
  
"Yes, this is it," I sighed, pulling my damp hair into a loose ponytail. "Full house tonight, and you don't seem to like crowds anyway."  
  
He made a noise of assent and commented on the space at our disposal.  
  
"So we have to share the bed," I shrugged, trying to feel non-challant about it. "Big deal, or are you scared of cooties?"  
  
"I thought," he stood behind me, close enough for me to feel his warmth, "perhaps you would be scared of me."  
  
I turned around; there was barely enough room because he was so close to me. "If you were going to try something you would have by now. I trust you to keep your hands to yourself."  
  
"Vielen danke, Fraulein," he smiled at me and laid down.  
  
I turned back around and tried to keep calm. He had me pegged pretty well; he did make me quite nervous. Seemed reasonable to me though - here I was sleeping with a stranger who'd killed two men as though it meant nothing and threatened to do the same with me if I didn't help him get to freedom. Who in their right mind wouldn't harbor reservations about their situation??  
  
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I awoke the next morning to an empty bed. I reached over to light the lamp when I felt something like a warm velvet rope wrap around my arm - Nightcrawler's tail.  
  
"Nein!" he whispered.  
  
I put the matches down, quietly rose from the bed, and stood behind him. "What is it?" I breathed.  
  
"Nazis. Get dressed; we're going." He slowly drew his swords, the slight metallic scrape giving his action away in the profound silence of our room.  
  
As I threw on my clothes and slid into my shoes I heard two gunshots downstairs. I froze: had they killed Mama Abigail? A moment later someone was hurrying up the steps and pounding on our door.  
  
"It's Abigail. Come on out!" she called through the door.  
  
"Get behind me," he instructed and I obeyed, hugging the wall to the right of the door. He unlatched the door with his tail (that impressed me - I wondered from out of left field if he could wield a sword with that tail, too) and kept his weapons at the ready.  
  
Mama was alone and looked worried. "We've got trouble, dears. The Nazis have come looking for you."  
  
I moved so that I could see Mama through the door, shaking slightly as I did so. How had they found us?  
  
"Wundervoll," Nightcrawler hissed, re-sheathing his weapons. "Are they dead?"  
  
"Yes, they are. But there will be more. We need to get everyone out and to the next stop."  
  
We headed downstairs. The rest of the refugees were gathered in the living room, surrounding the two dead men bleeding into the carpet.  
  
"I can't believe you shot them!" one man exclaimed to a woman holding a handgun. "What were you thinking??"  
  
"I was thinking that having these pigs catch us would not be good. They saw me - what was I supposed to do?" she spat back.  
  
The man didn't answer, as he had just gotten a glimpse of Nightcrawler and was too busy gaping. One by one the others turned to take a look. A few of the women gasped or gave a little shriek of fright. Nightcrawler ignored them all and I tried to do the same.  
  
"Now listen up, children," Mama spoke as though this were the most natural occurrence in the world. "We need to pull together to get through this. I need volunteers to dispose of the bodies. I need Miriam and Esther to come with me so I can tell you where to go next. And I need the rest of you to help clean this up before they come back."  
  
No one spoke or moved for a moment; then Nightcrawler stepped into the middle of the group and crouched by the late officers. As he rummaged in their pockets for anything of potential value, he asked Mama how she wanted them dealt with.  
  
"Send them down river, dear. They'll be out to sea before they know they're missing."  
  
"Sehr gut," he hefted one of the dead men over his shoulder and disappeared in a slight puff of brimstone-scented smoke. The group of dumbfounded people spoke quickly and with a lot of speculation on what exactly he was as they cleaned.  
  
Esther and I went to the kitchen with Mama, who told us how to get to the next stop and what to expect on the way. Within the hour everything was ready to go, and we set off. Because the first leg of the journey had to be done in broad daylight, Nightcrawler took point. As before, we made it through unscathed - no mean feat for ten wanted people traveling together. Esther took over that evening, and the next night I was leading us on. So it went, with Nightcrawler bringing up the rear after that first day on the road. At last we made it to our destination: a suburban residence outside of Raleigh. 


	3. Miriam

"Sleeping outside?" I sat down in the grass near him. He glowered at me before looking back up at the sky.  
  
"Do you understand why I hate people?"  
  
"They won't all be that bad-"  
  
"Nein." Nightcrawler stretched out on the ground. "They'll be worse. Ignorance, arrogance, and hypocrisy all run rampant within humanity."  
  
I sighed and plucked a blade of grass. He had every right to feel put out - I'd be pissed off too if my reward for helping someone live was to be mocked behind my back and called a demon to my face.  
  
"I'm not doing it again. We travel alone from now on."  
  
I pulled my coat around myself as the wind picked up again. He said We . . . that meant he still intended to drag me along. Oh well, it's not like there was anything left for me out here.  
  
"Do you miss it?" I asked.  
  
"Miss what?"  
  
"Your home, your family . . . do you miss it?"  
  
He thought about it for a minute, his tail tapping the ground. "It was more familiar," he said at last. "The entire planet was like a demilitarized zone, but I knew the parts I traveled in like the back of my hand."  
  
"What about your family?" I laid down and studied the stars with him.  
  
"Not much to miss. My mother, that's about it, but we parted thinking we'd both be dead at the end of the day, so it's not a big shock. My father wasn't much of a family man and I only really knew him later on as an adult, when I joined the same resistance he was in. I was an only child." He looked over at me, eyes glowing in the moonlight. "What about you? Do you miss your family?"  
  
"I do sometimes. My parents were killed in an uprising a few years ago. They came through the ghettos to cull out the weaker of us - weak people don't make good slaves - and they fought back." I sighed as the memory re- played itself. "I'm the youngest, and I was the only one left. My sister was caught running papers and hanged. My brother had taken his wife through the Underground years before, but we never heard from him again. So there I was, tucked up in a cupboard while my parents were murdered. I joined the Underground after that - what else did I have to lose?"  
  
Silence settled again for a few minutes. It was more serene this time, which logic dictated should be odd. I didn't care, though; crickets chirped as clouds passed by to play peek-a-boo with the stars.  
  
"I have something to ask, but it may offend you," Nightcrawler's voice was without the edge it had carried since I met him.  
  
"What is it?" I asked in a similarly subdued tone.  
  
"Do you believe in God?"  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"I'm curious. Where I'm from, the second Great War ended in the Nazi's defeat and the Allies went in to liberate the concentration camps. The Jewish survivors, it is said, could be divided into two basic mentalities - God does not exist because He would never let his Chosen People become so decimated; or God does exist but is crazy."  
  
"I've thought about that a lot. I think about it sometimes late at night as I'm going to sleep," I felt my eyes tear up. "And I . . . I'm not sure. I want to believe He exists and cares, but there's no evidence for that. I can't quite believe there is no creator, either. I think about all the laws of physics and the complexities of everything-"  
  
"Such as?"  
  
"-such as snowflake formation and cellular reproduction and the Fibonacci sequence on pinecones and it seems preposterous that all of it is completely random. Someone had to lay the ground rules. I think that's all God really is."  
  
"A divine architect?"  
  
"More or less. Someone who said 'This is the speed of light' and 'This is the equation for gravity' and such, and built the universe just to see what would happen. I don't think God pays attention to individuals or cares about our annihilation."  
  
"Do you pray, then?"  
  
"Sometimes," I sighed again. "Couldn't hurt." I looked over; he was laying with his eyes closed. "And you? What do you think?"  
  
"I'm agnostic. I don't know if God exists and I don't often care."  
  
We were quiet again and I let it be. A few moments later I detected the change in his breathing and realized he was asleep. I followed his example.  
  
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We traveled through the countryside by night, hiding out and sleeping in the daylight hours. As we went along we compared notes on where we were from - the fact that this city stood while that one did not, how our histories diverged after Hitler's bid for power, why his world had mutants and mine did not. The more we talked, the more at ease we became with each other. It became easier to see past his extraordinary appearance and what I found underneath was someone not too different from myself. The only real difference was that I think he had more hope than I did that his actions in his resistance back home meant something in the long run. He was in his 20s but could remember his world before the power-hungry Darwinistic overlord Apocalypse won the genetic civil war he'd ignited. He remembered growing up in rural Germany with his mother before the bombs had fallen to destroy the landscape; he remembered climbing trees that had birds singing in them and hunting for small game.  
  
We were enjoying the products of his skills as a hunter now that dusk had fallen. I took the joint of rabbit leg from him with eager anticipation; it smelled wonderful and I was quite hungry. We ate in companionable silence and took turns with the bottle of beer I'd managed to pilfer in the last town.  
  
"I can't remember the last time I had some of this," he'd grinned and took another swallow. "I must have been about twelve . . ."  
  
"You said before that both your parents were mutants too. Were they also able to teleport?" I speared a potato out of the embers and set it in the grass next to me to cool a bit.  
  
"No, they couldn't. My mother was a shape-shifter. She could make herself look and sound like anyone she'd ever had contact with. Came in quite handy when running from the authorities - they tend to notice blue skin and yellow eyes."  
  
"You favor your mom, then."  
  
"Mostly. The fur was from my dad, though. He was what we termed a feral mutant - animal-like. He called himself Sabretooth because of his size and feline qualities. If he were with us, we'd be eating deer right now. I remember him heading into the woods, catching the scent of whatever he wanted for dinner, and slaughtering it with his bare hands."  
  
I winced as I cut open the potato. "I'm guessing he wasn't someone you wanted to run up against in a fight."  
  
"Nein, not at all. He was a little on the crazy side, so that really made him dangerous." Nightcrawler procured a potato of his own.  
  
"How was he crazy?"  
  
He pulled up his shirt so I could see his stomach and ribs. "Do you see the scars here?"  
  
I had to move closer to see them through the dimming light and dark fur. "Uh-huh."  
  
"Courtesy of my old man," he lowered the shirt. "I was about eleven years old then. My mom was teaching me to use my swords, how to take a man down, that sort of thing. She saw the war coming and wanted me to be prepared. Well, she goes into town for something one day and dad decides it's time to toughen me up a bit. 'Yer gonna be in trouble if ya can't do that covert crap yer mom's fillin' yer head with,' he growled. 'Whatcha gonna do if yer caught in a room with someone like me?' Then he took a swipe at me with his claws." He mimicked a slashing, grabbing kind of motion with his hands. "Caught me in the side and I started bleeding. He came at me again, told me to fight back if I could. I tried it and got another good slice. I was pretty agile, but I was also smaller then. Und my dad was huge and fast on his feet too. I couldn't outrun him."  
  
"What happened?" my eyes were wide as I pictured the scene he was describing, my food forgotten for the moment.  
  
"After a few minutes of this, I was pretty bloody and in a lot of pain. I was also very scared, because I thought he meant to kill me. It wasn't just his appearance that made him feline; he liked to play with his kills before he finished the job the way a cat plays with a mouse. Well, he got me backed into a corner of the living room and was coming in for another slash when I looked up to the ceiling and wished I could get there somehow. It would have bought me a few minutes at least and I wasn't sure he could climb up there to get me. And all of a sudden I was there. I didn't know how, but I was. At that moment my mom gets back. As she's opening the door she sees me hanging from the rafters. She sees dad standing under me, grinning like a lunatic and licking my blood off his fingers. And she hears him taunt, 'What the matter? Don't feel like playin'?'"  
  
I shivered and forced my mouth closed. "Oh my God. What did you mom do??"  
  
"She threw him out." He smiled slightly and cut open his potato. "He got his point across though, and once I realized that teleporting was my mutant ability I became very creative in how I used it. Can you imagine the surprise on someone's face when they throw you und you're able to come back behind them und knock them down using that momentum?"  
  
"That's creative," I conceded. "So's getting rid of body parts."  
  
He nodded. "My mom's modus operandi was to strike from shadows and disappear back into them. She disliked direct confrontation with her enemies. My dad was the exact opposite; his day wasn't complete unless he watched the person die in front of him. I favor my mother's ideas more because it's easier - I can't change the way I look as she could - but using what is essentially a defensive mutation offensively has proven quite useful over the years."  
  
We finished eating, destroyed all traces of our camp, and set off once more. 


	4. Miriam

"Unglaublich," Nightcrawler whispered as he surveyed the city from our vantage point atop the hill.  
  
"A lot different from what you remember?" I whispered, eyes sweeping the skyline of New Berlin. "How was yours?"  
  
"A lot more American." He sat back into his crouch and glanced over. "Apocalypse never bothered getting rid of the monuments he took down, so a walk through Washington D.C. was very depressing. Within six blocks you could see government offices, a Madri temple, the gutted remains of the Congress, and a decapitated Abraham Lincoln on his side."  
  
I tried to picture this over the current architecture of stark gothic buildings emblazoned with the swastika and War Eagle, tried to see the Hitler Youth marching through ruins instead of the well-tended and manicured streets below us. It was impossible though -- no records remained of the history that had gone before and so the talk of white marble buildings and massive depictions of the former presidents were nothing more than the hushed recollections of a demographic slaughtered for its memories . . . and for the inspiration those memories might have incited. I'd been born into a world wiped clean of everything except Hitler's vision; it was all I knew.  
  
"I wonder how many times he saw this change," he frowned momentarily before heading back to our shelter.  
  
"Who?" I got up and followed, lifting my skirt above the grass.  
  
Nightcrawler gestured dismissively. "Bishop. He claimed to be a space-time traveler. My last mission involved confirming that my version of the world should never have existed."  
  
"Should never have -- wait." My brain tried to wrap around that. It failed. "How could he know about should? And why would that matter?" I peered at him from across the pews -- we were in a dilapidated church tonight (much to Nightcrawler's dismay). "Your world exists. Why is that bad?"  
  
"Existed," he corrected me tersely. Uh-oh, I touched a nerve. "Und it was bad because it somehow meant the unraveling of all other realities, including this one." He teleported out of my sight and into a dark corner of the rafters. His voice echoed down, "A friend of the man leading the X- Men was assassinated in my timeline. Because of his death, Apocalypse won und everything went to Hell. Bishop said it never should have happened but because it did, everything else UN-happened. It all just disappeared."  
  
I sat down heavily on the dusty wooden bench. How could I not notice something like blinking in and out of existence? Was I just put on pause somehow? I felt a headache coming on.  
  
"Among the worlds that disappeared was one in which the struggle to live peacefully with regular humans seemed to be yielding fruit. It was decided that if this were indeed true and our sacrifice meant this world, with a real possibility for peaceful co-existence, would go on living that saving that world was infinitely better than to continue fighting our losing battle."  
  
"But that doesn't make sense," I finally answered, rubbing my temples. "Either you succeeded and you shouldn't exist, or you didn't and I shouldn't exist. We can't both exist according to what you're saying."  
  
"No, we can't," he answered from the shelter of the shadows.  
  
"Then what happened?"  
  
"Ich weiss es nicht," his voice echoed from another portion of the ceiling. "My best guess is that where I go during a teleport is outside of everything else. When we achieved our goal, I must have been in the middle of a jump at the moment reality shifted."  
  
"And you wound up here."  
  
"Ja."  
  
"Why here? Why not a different world? Why not one with mutants?"  
  
"Perhaps God hates me." I spied a glimpse of him along the western wall. "Or perhaps this was simply the nearest reality und I had to go somewhere."  
  
"Do not pass GO, do not collect two hundred Deutschmarks."  
  
"Ja wohl." He'd come up and around so that he was above my pew. I didn't realize this until he dropped down and somersaulted into the space next to me. "I'll never really know; it's useless to keep thinking about it."  
  
"But you do, and you're bothered by it." I turned to face him, tucking my feet under myself. My gaze slowly wandered over his unusual features, my mind memorizing them as though things would right themselves somehow and one of us would disappear. I fought the growing desire to touch him by walking to the long-neglected altar. I examined it as I had him, desperate to ease my feelings of . . . of what? Whatever it was made me want to cry.  
  
Hours later, as the sunlight beamed through the remnants of stained glass, I was still awake. I laid on my side, curled almost into a ball. The feeling hadn't gone away and once alone I let the tears slowly slide down my cheeks. It was stress, that's all it was, right? I mean, my entire life had been uprooted in the past few weeks; I was now a fugitive from the government; I was running to Canada with a battle-hardened assassin with looks that could kill all on their own. And I'd been really good about not going all girly on him, either. This was the first time I cracked at all. I sniffed and rubbed my nose, blinked out a few more tears, and began to let the worry through. Nightcrawler had gone out for some air a considerable amount of time ago and while I kept telling myself that he could take care of anything that came his way, I still worried.  
  
Maybe his aversion to churches was actually stronger than his one to sunlight.  
  
A smile tugged at my mouth; it grew wider as I tried to picture him actually attending a church service. I giggled at the mental image of the scraggly demon-man in a suit and tie, hymnal in his hands, paying rapt attention to the Catholic priest who once gave his sermons here.  
  
As quickly as the silly thoughts hit me, they left. The melancholia resumed its hold, and I sighed sadly again. I felt the lack of people in this once- holy space quite keenly and longed for Nightcrawler's return. And right as I wished for it, he came back.  
  
He'd teleported inside on the far side of the church probably out of courtesy; he knew I was supposed to be asleep, and he was aware of the smell he left when he did that. I tried to hear him cross the room but I could not. He didn't want to be heard at all. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, listening for some sign that would tell me where he was.  
  
"You're still awake, Miriam?" his voice was hushed, but nearby. I opened my eyes and saw him a few feet from me, crouched down to see me better.  
  
"How did you know?" I asked his sideways form.  
  
"Your breathing is too fast and your muscles are tensed. Is everything alright?" His tail moved behind him as he watched me.  
  
"Yes." I sighed. "No . . . I don't know." A wave of sadness washed over me as I looked into his eyes. He seemed to have aged during his walk outside. "I don't know," I repeated and stretched out on the floor. "I started to worry about you."  
  
His eyes widened for a split second. "Nothing to worry about. I just needed some time . . ."  
  
I nodded. "Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
He moved from the customary crouch to sitting cross-legged next to me. "There's nothing really to say, except -- forget it."  
  
He sat pensively, his own muscles visibly bunched in tension. I bit my lip and decided to sit up and move behind him.  
  
"What are you doing?" he started to turn, keeping me in his field of vision.  
  
"You need to relax a little," I said, laying my hands on his shoulders. He somehow managed to bunch together more than before; I slowly ran my hands along his shoulders, palms open and flat against him. "I won't hurt you. If you don't believe me, wrap your tail around my neck and squeeze."  
  
There was silence for a heartbeat before he chuckled and turned back around. His tail stayed away from all parts of me, opting instead to lightly tap the floor as I began kneading the muscles under my hands. The tension gradually melted away, and I continued my ministrations as the silence lingered between us.  
  
"I'll do your neck for you if you like," I offered softly some time later, running my fingertips lightly against the grain of his fur. He accepted silently, lowering his head and exposing his neck to me. "What were you going to say earlier?" I kept my voice as soft and soothing as I could while I delicately worked along this part of his spine.  
  
"Just something that occurred to me before," his voice was a bit muffled. "I've not yet decided which is more disturbing to me: being told that I should never have been, or the fact that I somehow was, anyway."  
  
My fingers stopped their movement as the profundity of his words hit me. My God, no wonder he was depressed. I licked my lips and forced my fingers to move again. "I would be hard-pressed to choose between those," I admitted, making small circles along the sides of his neck where his shoulders started. "But I, for one, am glad that you exist." I laid my hands against him as I had when I first started the massage, and then did something that probably surprised me more than it did him -- I straightened up from kneeling and softly kissed the back of his neck. He didn't move for a moment, but when he did it was to slowly turn all the way around and sit facing me.  
  
"Thank you," he said softly, watching me. What did that funny look in his eyes mean? "Now, what was bothering you so much that you couldn't sleep?"  
  
"I . . ." I stammered. I blushed. I'm an idiot. "I felt lonely."  
  
He nodded sympathetically. "Would you like me to stay with you?"  
  
I nodded dumbly, my face burning like a brand. He wordlessly reached for me with his right hand, caressing my cheek with the backs of his fingers. I moved closer and he folded me in his arms, tucking me close to him.  
  
"We all get lonely," he whispered, slowly reclining. "It's alright."  
  
My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I laid next to him. Panic began to surface from out of nowhere when I wondered just how lonely he thought I was. But no, if he were interested in me he would have made a move long before now. It was platonic; it meant nothing.  
  
"I won't do anything you don't want me to," he soothed, petting my hair as though I were a child. "You helped me to relax, now let me help you do the same."  
  
"Thank you," I murmured, face still hot as I laid my head on his shoulder. His arms tightened pleasurably around me while he draped his tail over the both of us.  
  
"Sweet dreams," he murmured into my hair before placing a light kiss on my forehead. I closed my eyes and let the rhythms of his breathing and heartbeat lull me to sleep. 


	5. Miriam

The first thoughts that entered my slowly-waking mind that night involved the fur that I felt on my face and the identity of the warm body next to mine. I smiled drowsily at the memory of my talk with Nightcrawler and sighed contentedly before resolving to sleep a while more if I could. We were wrapped together in a blanket much the way we'd begun except that his tail was wrapped loosely around one of my legs and I felt the fingers of his right hand in my hair. I was almost asleep again when I felt his touch move to my shoulders, his fingertips dancing there lightly before they ever so softly massaged the muscles. I sighed again, my smile growing wider, and nuzzled against him. The pressure of his touch increased a little and I drew another slow, deep breath.  
  
"Guten abend, liebling," he whispered in my ear. He sounded like he'd just woken up himself.  
  
"mmm . . ." I traced the line of his collarbone with one of my fingers.  
  
His touch grew a bit harder still and I decided it was quite nice. I yawned my approval and kept my eyes closed.  
  
"Does that feel good?" he inquired, tracing the path of my backbone. He shifted his tail around me so that the tip of it caressed my ankle.  
  
"Yes," I whispered, nuzzling him again.  
  
We remained silent for a bit while he continued to slowly stir me back into the waking world. At length he shifted so that he could wrap his arms more fully around me; he was systematically working down all the muscles in my back.  
  
"Did you sleep well?" he inquired before placing a small kiss on my cheek.  
  
"Yes, thank you," I stretched a bit before settling against him once more. In response to my movement, his tail unwrapped itself from my leg, opting instead to lie against my lower back when I was done. "And you?"  
  
"Like a baby." He kneaded my shoulders deeply now; his tail was busy rubbing up and down my spine.  
  
"You're good at that," I moaned.  
  
"I know," he moved his tail to the small of my back again, then under the hem of my blouse so that he caressed my bare flesh. "I'm good at a lot of things."  
  
My eyes snapped open and adrenaline rushed through my system as I realized where he was probably going with this. Before I could decide whether to allow it, his tail slid out from under my shirt and his hands left my back. I raised my head to look at him; his eyes hadn't completely hardened and I caught a glimpse of what might have been pained disappointment.  
  
"Nightcrawler?" I watched his expression solidify into one similar to that on our first night together. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing, Fraulein." He shifted and I moved so that I wasn't on top of him anymore. He got to his feet and headed for the door. "It's late already; we should get on the road. I'll wait for you outside."  
  
I sat where I was, stunned and bewildered, before I realized my mouth was still open. I shut it and got up from the floor, gathered up our bedrolls to strap them to our packs, and headed outdoors.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
If being without his presence the day before had been bad, being in his company while he was upset, brooding, and silent was worse. I felt guilty but I didn't know what for, and when I asked him about it he ignored the question.  
  
We were in need of provisions again so we dropped into one of New Berlin's suburbs to do some shopping. This consisted of finding a shop closed for the night and teleporting inside, whereupon we loaded up on everything we needed. Okay, so really we're thieves, but we don't steal their money along with their goods -- and given the circumstances, it's justified, right?  
  
Nightcrawler didn't seem to engage in such moral dilemmas. For him the matter was simple: we need it, we take it. If it involved our well-being, he was methodical and thorough. At the moment he was sacking up some more potatoes, several packages of beef jerky, and a package of what looked like dried apricots. I'd grabbed two loafs of rustic wheat bread, a liter of milk, and a few fresh apples as a peace offering. And soap; we were almost out. I pocketed a three-pack of some unscented variety just as I noticed a little red dot on my skirt.  
  
"Scheisse!" Nightcrawler hissed. It was the first thing he'd said all night. Made sense though -- I had a few choice words on my own tongue. What kind of no-good shop owner has motion sensors at the BACK of their store and not the front? The alarm bell was loud and had prompted the owner to come down from the flat above the store.  
  
A burst of light was the first thing I saw of the owners -- it came from the camera in her hands. I'd been caught full in the face and was blinded as a result. And because I was the one nearest to them, it was I who was grabbed from behind and had a knife to her throat.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" a young male voice asked me.  
  
"What's it look like? I'm planting corn," I stomped as hard as I could on his foot. He let go, but not before sliding the well-sharpened blade across my neck. I felt the blood trickle down my collar before the kid's mother hit a particularly painful spot in my midsection with the walking stick she carried.  
  
BAMF! THUD.  
  
Both people fell unconscious to the floor. I looked up in time to see Nightcrawler toss me a box of gauze from a nearby shelf, then open the camera to expose the film inside.  
  
"Thank you," I gasped, still winded, and pressed the gauze to my wound to stop the blood. It wasn't bad, probably wouldn't even need stitches, but it was still messy.  
  
"Nicht zu danken," he muttered before offering me a hand up. I accepted and re-adjusted my backpack, looking around warily. Nightcrawler had meanwhile procured a first aid kit, shoved it into his pack, and bowed his sarcastic thanks to the owners. "Let's go," he grabbed my arm and teleported.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
We camped out in the wilds the next morning, having decided it was prudent to put as much distance between ourselves and inhabited areas as possible. We were lucky enough to be near a river and that meant two things -- lots of fresh water, and the opportunity to bathe. I went first at Nightcrawler's insistence, scrubbing myself and my clothes clean now that I had the chance. A half hour later I felt much better but was still glad to leave the water, as it was on the chilly side. I toweled off and put on my other change of dry clothes. I turned to head to camp and jumped a foot off the ground.  
  
"Nightcrawler!" I gasped, my hand flying to my chest. "Oh, you scared me. I was just coming to get you."  
  
"You were out here for a while, so I came to check on you." He looked towards the river. "Beautiful view."  
  
"How, um, how long were you here?" I asked as he stripped off his armor, then his shirt.  
  
"Long enough to take in the beautiful view," he continued undressing.  
  
Blood raced to my face as comprehension hit me. "Well, I expect it's a good thing you're about to take a cold bath!" I threw the soap at him as hard as I could.  
  
He caught it deftly and smiled at me, obviously amused. "Grab a seat und call it even?"  
  
I turned on my heel and marched away as I was at a complete loss for a good retort.  
  
"It wasn't intentional!" he called after me; I pretended to not hear.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The spring thaw was done and nature was starting to re-awaken after the long winter. Tired of lying in the tall meadow grass of the Virginia hinterland, I'd climbed up a tree to sit in the branches and sleep in the foliage there. Nightcrawler, ever keeping me in his sights, came up after me.  
  
BAMF! "You know what occurs to me?"  
  
"That neither sleep nor privacy are sacred with you around?" I snuggled into my jacket, legs tucked up under me as I lay in the crux of the higher branches.  
  
"Ach, don't tell me you're still upset about that!"  
  
"Hey, I wasn't the one hiding in the trees to get a free show."  
  
"First, I said it wasn't intentional. I thought you'd be more startled if I let you know I was there earlier. Second, you're a beautiful woman. Consider it a compliment."  
  
"Oh, please. You're male -- you're biologically programmed to stare at anything with curves."  
  
"You really believe that?" he crouched nearby, tail swishing.  
  
"Well, it's that or you're just a chauvinistic asshole. Which do you prefer?" I leveled my stare at him.  
  
"I've been very charitable with you," he moved closer to me, his eyes never leaving mine. "Perhaps you'd like it better if I dropped you off at the next extermination camp we pass."  
  
"You wouldn't," I whispered, trying to stare him down. "You need me to guide you."  
  
"I've seen enough, und you're a liability. You can't defend yourself," the tip of his tail slid across my bandaged neck for emphasis, "und you complain that I've taken one small liberty when anyone else would demand that you put out." His golden eyes bored into mine. "You presume too much. I can kidnap und extract information from anyone I want, und make sure they never speak of me. Und you, my dear, would not be missed."  
  
The implied death threat knocked the breath out of me; I kept staring at him. "If I'm so worthless to you, why are you dragging me along?"  
  
The staring match ended with Nightcrawler slinking away from the tree silently. Shaking with emotion, I followed him, grabbing a handful of pebbles when I reached the ground. "Answer me!" I threw one at his back; it missed the mark by a foot. "Why are you doing this?" The next stone also failed to find its mark. I launched the last one at him, catching him finally in the shoulder. "Why, Nightcrawler?"  
  
He rounded on me and teleported, grabbed me, and teleported again so that I was shoved roughly against the tree trunk.  
  
"Why are you being such a monster?" I demanded, looking up into his face.  
  
"Don't ever throw anything at me again," he growled, nostrils flaring. His grip on my arms tightened painfully.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" I asked again, ignoring the bruises I could feel forming.  
  
"I'm beginning to wonder that myself."  
  
"Then get rid of me," I challenged, voice trembling. "If I'm such a danger to you and a pain in your ass, get rid of me. Bamf, dump, and your done. What are you waiting for?"  
  
He leaned forward as though he were going to kiss me. "Be careful what you ask for," he purred.  
  
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, but I kept my gaze even with his. "You won't do it," I stated at last. "I don't know what's been bothering you. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But don't take it out on me." He looked away, sighed, and let go of me. I resisted the urge to reach up and rub away the pain in my arms, opting instead to climb back up the tree. "I'm going back to bed, such as it is. Let me know when I wake up if you're over it or if I should split."  
  
He left me to sleep in peace, but I found I couldn't. I finally lost consciousness while contemplating what I'd do with myself if he told me to get lost, and why that prospect bothered me so.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Hi, Colleen! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far; I don't usually write in first person, but this is how this story wanted to be written. It's good to know I'm doing a good job with it. The going to church bit was as much for my own amusement as anyone else's -- the 180-degree turn with that was one of the things that caught my attention about the Age of Apocalypse Nightcrawler, and I couldn't resist commenting on it. I'm looking forward to hearing what you think of the next few bits! 


	6. Miriam

I awoke that evening with a queasy stomach, the result of my nervousness concerning my traveling companion. It didn't get any better the closer to the ground I got, but I shored myself up for what was coming. I came upon him as he sat by the campfire, tending to the food he was cooking. He glanced over his shoulder once he heard me and invited me to sit; I accepted, tongue-tied as I debated on what, if anything, to say.  
  
"I owe you an apology," he began, keeping his eyes on the fire. I don't know why this directness surprised me -- it wasn't like it were out of character for him -- but I turned my full attention to him, studying him. He seemed guarded, but not as cold as he'd been previously. "I was too forward with you yesterday. You had every right to pull away, und I shouldn't have taken it personally. You're a proper woman after all, nicht wahr?"  
  
So THAT'S what it was about! But . . . "But I didn't pull away from you, I-- "  
  
He placed the tip of his tail against my lips to shush me. "It was subtle; I didn't think you realized it. It's alright," he sighed and drew his tail back to himself, "we're still getting to know each other. I was out of line." He took the pot off the fire, opened the lid, and tipped the contents into the grass.  
  
"Bad stew?" I tried to see what it was.  
  
"Nien. Boiled eggs."  
  
"Don't tease me like that," I sighed. A few weeks ago I never would have considered them the delicacy that I did now.  
  
He handed me one wrapped in the rag he'd used as a pot holder. "There's a farm a few miles up the road. I couldn't resist -- I've not had eggs in years." He laid out another three in the cooler grass. "I also want to apologize for what happened at the river. It really was an accident that I saw you, but I could have done things differently."  
  
Any anger I still had within me evaporated, but I couldn't help remembering the threats he'd made. "Do you still want to part ways?" I tried to be diplomatic. "You do have a point, I am just slowing you down . . ."  
  
He winced and drew a slow, deep breath; then he stared at the ground for a moment, shoulders slumped, tail draped limply over his right knee. I bit my lower lip and looked away, uncomfortable.  
  
"My mother used to say," his voice was so soft that I had to focus on hearing him, "that it's not our appearances but our actions that make us ugly. She said it every day during the persecutions before the war. It was why she joined the Underground as the ferrywoman to Avalon; it was why I joined the X-Men." He swallowed before drawing another breath. "I've not been the man I try to be, Miriam. Instead I've been as ugly towards you as the beast that looks back at me in the mirror. There's no excusing that." He looked over at me, his eyes catching mine. "I value your company and have enjoyed traveling with you, but I'll understand if you want to go on separately."  
  
I held his gaze for a long moment, tears burning my eyes. There was no way an apology that detailed and sincere had come easily for him; I was truly impressed. "I accept your apology, Nightcrawler, and I forgive you," I reached over to squeeze his hand. "I don't want to leave, either." I smiled tentatively at him.  
  
The beginnings of a smile tugged his lips and he squeezed my hand in return. "Danke schoen," he whispered. "Friends again?"  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"Are you hungry?" he turned back to his initial task by the fire. "I also picked up some bacon."  
  
"Ooh, you're going to spoil me!" I laughed, relieved that things had come out as they had. Then I remembered something. "Oh, wait, I'll be right back!"  
  
"Where are you going?" he asked as I ran towards the water.  
  
"I have something for you." I returned five minutes later bearing the liter bottle and my pack.  
  
"Fresh milk! Who's spoiling whom, liebchen?" His eyes were alight and a toothy grin split his face.  
  
"Just wait, there's more." I rummaged in my bag until I found the fruit, which I handed to him.  
  
"Is this what I get for picking fights? I'll have to do so more often!" he winked as he bit into an apple.  
  
"Be forewarned, I can get bitchy," I worked on unpeeling an egg.  
  
"I'll keep it in mind."  
  
We ate in relative silence, relishing the bounty we'd acquired and occasionally glancing at each other. When I was done I turned to face him, and he turned towards me.  
  
"I just want to tell you that I don't think you're ugly." I took in his finely-chiseled features and thought how other-worldly they were. Different, yes, but not ugly. "I think you're rather handsome, actually, in an exotic way."  
  
There was that funny look again. "Liar," he smiled and got to his feet. "Thanks for the ego boost though."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Over the next few weeks he began to teach me hand to hand defense techniques during rests on our way north. After only a few days of it he began to take time at the end of the night, before we settled in for sleep, to spar with me so I could apply my new-found knowledge. He claimed I had a knack for it and it was a true shame that I'd not been taught the martial arts before this. I tended to blush at his praise even as I kept working hard at it, eager to master the next move he had for me. Somewhere in Pennsylvania we took a break from traveling, as we were way out in the country and fairly sure we could get away with staying put for once. Nightcrawler took the opportunity to push me in my training, building my speed and ability to anticipate the next incoming move while improving my stamina for fighting.  
  
Unfortunately, I was very sore after the third day of it and almost couldn't move; and so it was that I was now laying on my stomach in the sunshine, Nightcrawler straddling my hips as he loosened up my back and arms.  
  
"It will get easier, I promise," he pressed hard with the heels of his hands along my lower back.  
  
"If you say so," I tried to not cry out in pain. I knew it was because my muscles were so tight, rather than because of anything he was doing wrong, but damn did it hurt!  
  
"We'll take it easy tomorrow, just a kata or two before we get going again. How's that?" He was about half-way up my back now.  
  
"Hey! There are ribs there, you know!" I squeezed my eyes shut as he focused on a problem spot under my right shoulder.  
  
"No, that's a rib," he demonstrated rather painfully, which earned a yelp from me. "The place before that was a knot. Important difference." He rubbed over the rib with his open hand to sooth the pain he'd inflicted.  
  
"I'm guessing you've never taught anyone before," I muttered.  
  
"Und why is that?" His voice held a slight warning note to it.  
  
"Because if you had, they'd be dead now. Ow!" He hit the knot again, getting it to loosen under his touch.  
  
"Sorry about that," the warning tone was replaced by the now-familiar sympathetic amusement. "Shall I kiss it und make it better?"  
  
"That sounds suspiciously like flirting," I couldn't help smiling.  
  
"That's not an answer," he moved on to my other side, which wasn't as sore.  
  
"You'll have a lot of kissing ahead of you," I warned.  
  
"I don't mind."  
  
"You may proceed, then." I felt him lean down to press his lips to my right shoulder, then down to the rib he'd almost surely bruised. He continued to work, kissing each site gently before moving to the next. I laid there and melted into a puddle of Miriam.  
  
At last he moved from being on top of me to laying beside me in the grass, on his side and propped up on an elbow. When I moved to look at him he laid a hand on my head, petting my hair as he did so. "Shh, just enjoy it," he instructed, and I obeyed. He continued petting me, moving from my hair to my still-sore back then down my arms and back up again.  
  
"What are you thinking?" I asked drowsily after a few minutes.  
  
"Two things. The first is that you are very beautiful, und the sunlight in your hair is a particularly nice highlight. The second is that I think I'll take a nap with you if you don't mind."  
  
"And are those thoughts related to one another?" I yawned.  
  
"I plead the fifth."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I refuse to answer that question, liebchen," he restated himself as he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. "Do you mind?"  
  
"What, playing with my hair?"  
  
"No," he chuckled, "my taking a nap next to you."  
  
"Oh, that." I yawned again. "I'd like that very much."  
  
He curled up next to me, his left arm extended alongside mine so that he could rest his head on it. His right arm held me loosely around the waist while his tail draped over my back. I reached out with my fingers to touch his; he hesitated for a moment before caressing mine in return, and a moment later our hands were clasped together as we dropped off to sleep. 


	7. Miriam

Author's Notes:  
  
NOTE: First of all, fair warning to any with delicate sensibilities concerning racial slurs: there are a few ahead. I'm taking this opportunity to put it in context. I don't condone racism, but I'm writing from the angle that the regime in Miriam's world is racist at its core. The terms ahead were in common usage at the time of WWII, and I don't expect that with the turn history took here that it would have gone out of vogue. *wipes sweat off brow* Now, on to the good stuff!  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Pennsylvania gave way to New York in time, and the weather continued to grow more pleasant as Spring deepened and began to hint at Summer. Every once in a while as we traveled along things would come up that brought into focus how different my world was from Nightcrawler's. For instance, he was exceedingly awed by the natural beauty around us while I would normally have passed by the blooming flowers and rich green foliage of the trees and grasses and blue sky above us with only a few happy glances here and there. When he'd described his life as living in a constant demilitarized zone, he'd meant it. Nothing living grew ever, anywhere, except in Avalon -- a freak patch of Antarctica that was sub-tropical and supported a rich natural ecosystem. Most people didn't get to see it either because they'd cast their lot with the ruling class of mutants, or because they couldn't afford the passage to Avalon, or because they didn't survive the passage once they undertook it. He told me as we stopped for a break one day that he himself had nearly died getting there. It was an impressive tale that involved an Indian church, a broken-down submarine, and a pirate ship before his mother showed up and took him the rest of the way. When he got to the part when the pirates murdered the lot of passengers, I could tell it still affected him that he'd not been able to save any of them. I asked if he felt guilty about it. He'd said no, not guilty, but his heart ached when he thought of it. Each person had fought their personal demons of fear and security, had worked up the courage to go and leave all they knew behind, and dared to live for a dream. And they'd all died for it right before his eyes. It had brought home to him why he had to finish the trip to Avalon, why he had to do his part to prove or disprove the elusive Bishop's story of other worlds. Then he'd fallen silent and brooding once more; my only reply was a gentle kiss on his cheek and a squeeze of his shoulder.  
  
We grew closer during this time through conversation and comfortable silence, often flirting with one another in ways that were not too threatening to either of us. A peck on the cheek here, a brushing of fingers there, and the occasional respectful and almost shy request by one of us to sleep next to the other were typical of that. After a time I noticed that whenever something new was introduced into the range of acceptable activity, it was I who added it. Nightcrawler was very conscious of how he behaved after the fight we'd had; I read between the lines and surmised that his mom was probably the sort of woman who smacked people up for getting fresh. I decided I most likely would have liked her and even would have looked up to her if I'd had the chance to meet her.  
  
"You think so?" he smiled knowingly. "It would probably be mutual. The fact that you drew a gun on me in our first five minutes together would have met with her approval."  
  
I got a good laugh out of that. We were in the middle of a practice fight again, and I was finally to the point where I could throw in some attacking. As before with blocking, he was now trying to build my speed. There were consequences for not being fast enough; most of them involved me hitting the ground.  
  
"You're getting better," he blocked another of my punches, "but you're still too slow." He'd caught me by my extended arm, pulled me to him, and pushed me down and around towards the ground. Frustrated, I grabbed his shirt for leverage and kicked out at his feet. He was surprised enough to lose his balance and we fell to the ground together.  
  
"Ow . . . oh, okay, that wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done." I shifted beneath him, for he'd landed directly on top of me.  
  
"I wasn't going to say it," he grinned wide enough for his fangs to show. "Good try though."  
  
"Thanks." I looked up at him for a moment before asking, "Are you going to let me up?"  
  
"Now that you mention it," he held my wrists to the earth and laid his head on my stomach, "maybe I'll keep you here. You make a good pillow, you know."  
  
"Nightcrawler!" I squirmed, but his grip was stronger than my attempts to get loose. His tail was moving in my peripheral vision and I figured that meant trouble.  
  
"Ja, Miriam?" he kept grinning as he tickled me behind an ear.  
  
"Let me up!" I managed between giggles.  
  
"No, this is too much fun." His tail went down to my neck, then to my sides.  
  
"No -- fair!" I gasped. "No fai-- ah!" I collapsed into peals of laughter when he reached the backs of my knees. He was laughing too, thoroughly enjoying the situation; I wiggled and jerked while pleading for him to stop.  
  
"Oh, all right," he finally relented, his tail brushing against my thigh. "Spoil sport."  
  
"You're not thinking of taking liberties while I'm this compromised, are you?" I teased, trying to catch my breath.  
  
He leaned down so that our faces were a mere inch apart. "You shouldn't give me ideas," he purred, moving his tail against me again.  
  
I held his golden eyes as he caressed me under my skirt and realized I was shaking.  
  
"Is something wrong?" he asked, his touch becoming very intimate.  
  
"Stop that," I whispered as my body reacted.  
  
"Stop what?" his breath was hot on my neck.  
  
"Touching me," I whimpered even as he touched me just right. I closed my eyes and silently admitted defeat.  
  
"Tsk, tsk, tsk . . . You're doing a poor job convincing me of your objection." Soft fur brushed my cheek; lips and teeth found my ear. I surrendered to his treatment of me, surprised at how enticing it was to be at his mercy. Nightcrawler seemed to be enjoying himself too; his breathing had become deeper and heavier, and I occasionally felt the evidence of his arousal as he pressed against me. At long last he pushed me over the edge. The soft noises I'd made became louder; he silenced my cries by covering my mouth with his. His hands released my wrists, moving to my hair as he deepened the kiss. I slid my own hands along his back, up his neck and into his hair. He pressed himself into me, moaning as he did so. It was the most passionate experience of my young life and I didn't want it to stop . . . Unfortunately, we don't always get what we want.  
  
"Es tut mir leid," he gasped after breaking the kiss, his eyes troubled. "I didn't mean--"  
  
"What's wrong?" I reached for him as he pushed himself up but it was too late; as soon as we were separated, he'd teleported away.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I laid in the grass, catching my breath as I replayed what had just happened. I was sure he'd be back soon -- he'd just gone off to cool down. He did that occasionally when things became too intimate for him. I smiled as I considered his concern and self-control. When he was ready, it would be something to remember.  
  
I got to my feet after a while and brushed the dirt off my clothes then stretched towards the sky. I was more limber now and didn't get sore as easily; for that I was thankful. I was thirsty though, so I headed towards camp for one of the canteens. Now, you know the phrase "too good to last"? That described my general sentiments when I was in sight of the camp. After leaving Charleston, Nightcrawler and I had been remarkably lucky. We'd managed to completely avoid the police and other assorted officials, our only brushes with humanity being at worst the sort of short-lived encounters similar to that with the shop owners outside of New Berlin. As my eyes took in the civilian farmer and the cadre of armed Nazi soldiers talking together as they picked through our belongings, I realized our luck had run out in spades.  
  
"I figger there's just the two of them," the farmer was going on as my clothes were dumped into the dirt. "It was a girl, right pretty if you like 'em dark."  
  
Oh! It's called a tan, you Aryan Asshole! I ducked behind one of the glacial boulders dotting the landscape and continued listening.  
  
"And the other?" one of the officers asked.  
  
"Pretty sure he was a nigger. Real dark, y'know? But weird. He didn't look like no darkie I've ever seen."  
  
My stomach lurched as he went on to describe Nightcrawler in what little detail he had. He got the two main points -- tail and eyes. At least he didn't mention his powers; that meant he still had a big advantage.  
  
"They can't be too far away," the officer addressed the rest of the group. "We've got enough here to get a scent on them both. Round them up and put them in with the rest."  
  
My eyes widened. Scent?? I bit my lip and looked around, trying to stay calm. They'd not seen me yet. It was a half mile to the small creek I'd seen earlier, and water should dampen my smell. With any luck I'd see Nightcrawler along the way. If not, well . . . well, I hoped I'd learned enough to beat up a German Shepherd.  
  
I moved with as much stealth as I could, ducking behind boulders and trees for cover each time I could. After what felt like eternity I reached the shore of the creek, the sand and pebbles crunching under my shoes. I was about to step in when my feet were pulled out from under me.  
  
"Good show," the soldier smiled at me, the other end of the whip in his hands. "I've got to say, it's been a while since I've had that kind of a chase."  
  
I tried frantically to unwrap the leather from my ankles. I didn't have an easy time of it, so I pretended defeat and put my hands palm down beside me.  
  
"Let me get that for you, cutie." He kept smiling as he got nearer. I let him undo the whip and lift me before I tossed my handful of sand at his eyes. He lashed out blindly for my face; I blocked and ran.  
  
"Enough screwing around!"  
  
CRACK!  
  
Ow . . . that was my face . . . the ground was coming up to meet me, and it was very blurry.  
  
"Put her in the truck," the same voice commanded. I felt rope going around my limbs, then everything went dark.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Colleen: And the ominous chill of foreshadowing descends upon us . . . *evil grin* 


	8. Miriam

I began to come to while laying against someone. That meant it had been a bad dream. But why did my head feel like it was splitting open? I slowly opened my eyes, taking in alternating strips of light and dark falling over the shadowed forms of many other people. I closed my eyes and opened them again. The same sight met me. Where was I?  
  
"Oh, good. She's waking up."  
  
"God be praised."  
  
"Hey, how are you feeling, Miriam?" someone directly above me asked in a gentle voice.  
  
I looked up and saw Esther. I looked around and paid attention to the other people around me. They were dirty, thin, and had fear in their eyes. Like tumblers in a lock, the pieces fell into place and I realized exactly where I was.  
  
"Nightcrawler . . .?" I felt a stab of panic and tried to find him somewhere in the cattle car we were packed into.  
  
"Not with us. They only brought you," Esther brushed some hair off my forehead.  
  
No! We'd come so far . . . I closed my eyes to hold back the tears.  
  
The ride was very uncomfortable and very long. About an hour after I woke up a group in one of the corners started weeping -- someone in their party had just died. When the mourner's khaddish began to be recited throughout the car, I knew I wasn't the only one who was reciting it in advance for those who'd die later with no one present to acknowledge their passing.  
  
Esther and I talked as we waited for the inevitable end of the line. She'd kept conducting others through the Underground and was caught at it in New York City; those who'd not been killed were bound for camps as we were now. I told her of how Nightcrawler and I had traveled and how I guessed we'd been seen coming onto the farmer's property, and how that led to my being here.  
  
"Yeah, I saw him flagging us down as we passed by," she sighed. "It's terrible."  
  
We eventually were taken off the train, corralled into a large group by armed soldiers who were adept at doing this. I deeply inhaled the night air as much to get the smell of that many people out of my lungs as to try to calm myself down again. As we were shuffled along we passed by the dreaded gates with the famous false promise "Arbeit Macht Frei" -- Work Makes Freedom. None of us had any illusions that the only freedom offered here was the freedom of the grave. They separated us by sex, sending us to different halves of the camp. Then they separated us by age and health. My heart cracked as I saw the very old and very young being taken from us -- they'd never be seen by the living again past tonight.  
  
I lost sight of Esther after they stripped us of our clothes and sent us in for physical inspection, then disinfection. I came out and was issued a standard prison shift, which I put on hastily. It's odd, but I wasn't as self-conscious about being seen by my captors as I was by the other prisoners. I felt a twinge of guilt at having more meat on my bones than they did, and didn't want them looking at me. Then it was standing in line for the other infamous aspect of life in the camps: the numbers. They held down my left arm and tattooed a string of digits above my star, going almost all the way up to my elbow. I was assigned a building and a bunk. I was given a pitiful ration of something that had once passed for food. I sat outside in the dirt, nibbling at the crust of bread and looking up at the stars. I wondered where Nightcrawler was right now and if he was in good health.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
As it turns out, Esther convinced someone to switch bunks with her so that she was in the same building as me; because of that I got to see her briefly the next day as we took our afternoon breaks from work. She'd been assigned to the kitchens; I was put to work as a seamstress. They drove us hard from the beginning and we struggled to figure out how the politics of the camp worked.  
  
I got a crash course in Nazi-prisoner relationships later that night. I was exhausted when they let me go for the evening, so it caught me by surprise when two off-duty soldiers sidled up to me in one of the side streets, one on each side of me. They looked me over in a way that made me very nervous.  
  
"Peter here says you just came in yesterday, little lady. That true?" the one to my right asked me.  
  
"Y--Yes sir. That's true." I tried to smile at him.  
  
"Oh, well welcome to Westchester. What's your name, honey?" Peter slid his arm around my waist.  
  
"Miriam," I answered as he squeezed my hip.  
  
"Pretty name," the first soldier commented. "What happened to your face, Miriam?"  
  
"Something hit me, I'm not sure what."  
  
"Tsk, that's too bad. It looks like it hurts."  
  
"Yes, sir, it does." I turned with them into an alley because I didn't have much choice in the matter. An eerie feeling of deja vu came over me.  
  
"Alex has some aspirin for you if you want it," Peter squeezed my hip again.  
  
I licked my lips nervously. "That's very kind of you."  
  
"You have to show us you want it, though," Alex grinned as he pulled the bottle out of his pocket and rattled it.  
  
"I--I'm not sure what you mean," I played dumb to stall for time.  
  
"It's really simple." Peter turned to face me, positioning me between them and the wall of one of the bunk houses. "You do us a favor, we do you a favor. A pretty girl like you can have a good life here if you're nice."  
  
"And if I decide to not be nice?" I asked quietly.  
  
"Then we'd have our fun with you and make it so you're not pretty anymore." Alex caressed my wounded cheek. "I don't think you want that."  
  
Oh boy, not a good decision to be presented with. At least they were offering me a choice in how they took advantage of me. "What do I need to do for some aspirin?" I glanced at them in turn.  
  
The silver-capped end of a polished walking stick came down next to Peter's cheek, catching both of the soldier's attentions. "All you need to do," the stranger answered for them, "is say, 'May I please have some aspirin, Herr Soldat?' And Herr Soldat will gladly give you as much aspirin as you need because he is an upstanding gentleman in the service of the Reich."  
  
Peter and Alex turned to face the man, who was well-dressed and very clean- cut. He ignored me for the moment in order to stare them down. The younger men dropped their eyes and shuffled nervously.  
  
"Now that we've got that straight, boys," he spoke again with the same official courtesy, "I think you should go play a hand of poker with the other lads."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Ja, mein Herr."  
  
They ran off as quickly as was respectful, leaving me alone with the man.  
  
"Are you all right, young lady?" he asked me, offering me his arm.  
  
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," I took his arm -- what else was I supposed to do? -- and let him walk me around the complex as though we were strolling a city's streets. Considering the circumstances, he talked with me about the oddest things. Could I type? Did I know how to dance? What were my favorite books and why did I like them? I humored him politely and occasionally asked him similar questions, which he answered eagerly.  
  
"Ah, it's wonderful to have an intelligent conversation with a lovely lady such as yourself," he sighed, looking up at the night sky. "It's a shame, but the cliché about all beauty and no brains is too often true."  
  
I blushed at his compliment and plucked up some courage. "Please don't think me ungrateful, sir, but why are we having this conversation?"  
  
He smiled at me and patted my hand, which was still curled around his arm. "Because, pretty Miriam, I'm deciding if I enjoy your company. You see, I am looking for a young woman who can take dictation for me during the morning and accompany me later that evening to the society functions that my position requires."  
  
"I didn't realize the camps are usually sources for such employees," I looked over and up at him.  
  
"They're not," he smiled. "But when I heard your exchange with those boys, I was impressed with they way in which you kept your head. I simply had to find out more about you." He took a step back from me and sized me up. "And I like what I see in you. You'll clean up very nicely, and with a bit of polishing you'll fit nicely into high society, I think."  
  
I felt like I was going to faint. He wanted to take me out of here after talking to me for twenty minutes? Where did he want me to go?  
  
"Berlin," he smiled when I asked, just as he was dropping me off outside the shack that housed my bunk. "Sie sprechen Deutsches, nicht Sie?" ["You speak German, don't you?"]  
  
"Selbstverstaendlich, mein Herr," ["Of course, sir."] I smiled demurely. "Was Art der Frage ist die?" ["What kind of question is that?"]  
  
"Fantastisch." ["Fantastic."] He was obviously delighted. "I will come for you in the morning, Fraulein."  
  
I went inside and fell onto my mattress, shaking with the disbelief that was washing over me.  
  
"Oh, this is wonderful, Miriam!" Esther was bouncing in place as though she were a child on the eighth night of Chanukah. "I'm so happy for you!"  
  
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Do you even know who he IS?"  
  
"Fill me in," I kicked off my shoes and slid under my meager covers.  
  
"His name is Erich Heidelmann. He's one of the Reich's head code-breakers -- the others in the kitchen have been talking about him all day -- and he's here on some sort of business with other officials. The rumor is that he's known for having a beautiful woman on his arm at all the big social events in Berlin. I hear he treats his baubles very well, too."  
  
"Great. I'm about to become a high-end prostitute, then?"  
  
"It's all in the perspective," Esther shrugged. "You could look at it that way, or you could see it as God watching out for you."  
  
"If God were watching out for us, we wouldn't be here in the first place." I rolled over to signal that our conversation was over. Esther tried to keep me in the discussion, but my thoughts had already turned to someone else. I could refuse Herr Heidelmann's request and hope he'd find me and rescue me . . . but if that didn't work out, I'd surely die here. Nightcrawler would understand, I tried to convince myself as I fell asleep. He knew about hard choices, after all . . .  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Mister Heidelmann, who kept insisting I call him Erich, was the pinnacle of gentlemanly conduct. He treated me like a proper lady consistently and treated me to the finest of creature comforts from the beginning of our association. I was escorted to his car the next morning and taken from the camp to his rented flat, where I was able to bathe in luxury. I'd never had a bubble bath before, so I drew one and soaked in the rose-scented suds before wrapping myself in a soft cotton robe. When I emerged from the bath I found a small assortment of dresses waiting for me on the bed with a note asking my forgiveness if they were not quite the proper fit. I found everything else I needed to wear in the drawers of the bureau beside the bed and dressed, commenting to myself that the fit wasn't bad even if it weren't absolutely perfect. I dined with Mister Heidel-Erich that night before boarding the aircraft. It looked as thought I were the only civilian on the flight, but no one commented about it within my earshot.  
  
Erich, it turned out, was part of the aristocracy and so lived in a very large house that sat on a very pretty lawn in the best neighborhood in Berlin. This was his regular residence; he described airily his vacation houses that were on the coast of France and in the Swiss Alps. I wondered why anyone would need so many houses when there was such a nice one as this at his disposal, but I kept that sentiment to myself. It was during my second day at this house that the tailors and dressmakers arrived - I'd been given a day to adjust to the time and settle in - and they kept me occupied all day long. I was fitted with every garment imaginable: delicate and frivolous underclothes; night clothes; casual dresses for everyday wear; dresses for working in the office; gowns for dancing . . . just when I thought it was over, I was shown all manner of accessories. Handbags, hairpins, jewelry, shoes. It went on and on until I wasn't sure if I were awake or dreaming. Every so often Erich would be shown in to see me in a particular outfit, on which he would express his opinions about style or color before leaving again to do whatever it was that kept him occupied.  
  
The next day was much the same except it was now hairdressers and make-up artists who came to fawn over me. The first thing they did was cut my hair ("Tch! So many split ends!" the woman with the scissors cried several times) and apply some sort of balm that required sitting under a dryer for nearly an hour. Then they combed and pinned and curled until what remained of my used-to-be-waist-length hair fell in little curls around my shoulders. The cosmetics ladies, I felt, butchered me too. The first thing they did was to wash my face, scrub it, and slather clay on top. Next they tortured me in a manner that involved both my eyebrows and a pair of tweezers. Then came the make-up, which was more involved than I ever would have imagined. I was powdered and rouged and had my eyes and lips lined and filled with colors - they were not amused when I asked if they were painting me by numbers - and all the while yet more people were shaping and painting my finger- and toenails. When it was finally over and they had me all made up and dressed in one of my everyday dresses, Erich was brought in to see the final product. His eyes lit up and he expressed his delight at my new appearance.  
  
"Why, you're gorgeous, Miriam!" he beamed, taking one of my hands in his. "What's wrong, don't you like it?"  
  
I flushed. "I appreciate it, but it's just that I feel like-" the phrase painted whore almost slipped out, "-well, like it's unnatural."  
  
He smiled and led me to a full length mirror and stood behind me. "It's not unnatural, Miriam. Look at yourself. Your natural beauty is shining through! All they did was to help it come out, to enhance it." He gently touched the ringlets framing my face. "You're like a diamond, liebchen. All they've done is take off the rough edges and polish you until you glow."  
  
I stared into the mirror at the stranger staring back at me. She was very beautiful with her fair skin and peach-pink cheeks and rose petal lips. The permed ringlets were piled loosely on top of her head, held back with combs sparkling with little jewels, and spilled down her shoulders and back. Her jewelry caught the light and twinkled; her dress accentuated the swells of breasts and hips and showed off her stockinged legs, which had grown shapely from so much cross-country walking. The heels made her taller so that she stood to the reflected Erich's shoulder; they changed her posture into one more seductive, more enticing to the opposite sex. The reflected Erich bent his head to take in the scent of her perfume, burying his face in her curls as if she were an exotic and heady flower.  
  
"You'll grow more comfortable with it in time," he said softly in my ear before slipping away again.  
  
I didn't share his confidence and continued to stand and stare at myself in the looking glass.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Wow! I take a small holiday and everyone pops up out of the woodwork! I'm not complaining, mind -- it was a very nice surprise!  
  
Colleen: I try to update regularly, but you may have to content yourself with less-frequent postings. I start the fall term at school tomorrow, and work nights on top of that. I do assure you that when I do post, it will be worth the wait. Will it go to Germany? *dastardly laugh*  
  
RobMacAF: Thanks for the constructive criticism regarding the change of PoV. You're right, I didn't transition that smoothly and have decided to revise the last chapter and the next upcoming one to improve the story's flow. I don't favor going third person to switch, though, so I've come up with a different idea. Each chapter will only have one point of view, and the title will tell you whose voice you're hearing (ex.: Chapter Seven -- Miriam). What do you think? Also, glad to know your opinion on in-story translations and I agree. You also mentioned Nightcrawler's religious beliefs . . . keep in mind that the Nightcrawler I'm working with is from the Age of Apocalypse. Many things changed there, including Kurt's views on God and religion. While it wasn't explicitly stated in the comics that he has no faith, he himself does threaten to kill The Angel for sending him to a church as part of the run to Avalon. To me, that implied that he's not the *ahem* most religious version of himself that ever existed. Because it never said anywhere that he has no faith whatsoever, I did concede that the potential is there by having him tell Miriam he's agnostic. And who knows: maybe something will happen later in the story that makes him a believer. Some things, after all, never change . . .  
  
Beryl: Don't worry, I've got two new chapters to post once I get a moment to do so. And do let me know what you think of the AoA series -- X-Calibre (the portion featuring Kurt) was great, but so was the rest of it. If you need the full listing including the transitions from the "regular" realities, let me know and I'll tell you the issue numbers for all books.  
  
HI!: Hello to you too! :p Patience, dear reader, patience . . .  
  
MG: Thank you, and I intend to continue writing. I've got the whole things up here *taps temple* and just need to set it down in words.  
  
stalker02: What is glomp? I take it it's a good sign, whatever it is. *chuckle* Again, glad you guys feel I'm doing his character justice. There will be an update sometime this week, so keep an eye out! 


	9. Nightcrawler

The first indication that things had gone sour was the presence of the soldiers in the woods, leashed dogs sniffing everything they could find. My eyes narrowed as I looked them over. They weren't as dirty und sweaty as they would be if such work were routine. This wasn't a generalized sweep -- they were looking for someone specific. My pulse quickened as the adrenaline hit me. What had become of Miriam?  
  
Come on you bastards, say something.  
  
I followed them as they went along, moving silently from tree to tree. At last one of their radios crackled to life, the person on the other end ordering a status report.  
  
"Nothing yet, mein Herr," the really young kid spoke into the two-way. "The dogs haven't got a lead. It's like he just vanished."  
  
"He's probably a drunkard and didn't know what he saw. Bring it back in; we've got a train to catch."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
I watched them turn to go und smiled. All I had to do was keep up, hitch a ride, und I'd be set. I stayed upwind from the animals und crept behind them by almost a mile, und we arrived back to the campsite perhaps a half hour later. I'd seen no trace of Miriam until I glimpsed the trucks. Other prisoners were worrying over someone in their midst; I figured that was her. I waited until everyone was in place und the convoy got back on the road before teleporting to the underside of the last truck in the row. The ride was bumpy und uncomfortable und lasted until our arrival at a military installation, where the trucks in our train took a few minutes to refill on petrol.  
  
I'd guessed correctly that the train station they'd been heading for was in fact part of the base. That was the good part. The bad part was that by the time I got a clear path out from under the truck und had enough cover to make it to the platforms, several trains had pulled out while others were pulling in und still others were being loaded with people. I stayed put und looked over each terrified captive, but none of them were Miriam.  
  
I wondered if it was my own personal curse or one general to all X-Men that when our luck runs out, it runs out in spades.  
  
I examined the grounds und the uniformed people, taking note of where the officers went that most of the grunts did not; this told me which were official buildings und which were for sleeping, eating, training, und such as that. Next, I had to find which of the handful of buildings housed the prisoner transfer records; perhaps I could find her through those papers.  
  
The going was slow due to the number of people milling about, but I finally found the right building und the correct office. Whoever was on duty hadn't yet filed the day's records; instead they comprised a series of lop-sided piles of paper that obscured the surface of the desk. I began flipping through them und reflected on how unfortunate it was that of all the things that could have remained constant between realities, the lust for genocide made the cut. I did my best to forget that each of these people had been condemned to die for nothing more than the blood that ran through their veins und focused instead upon finding her -- a name, a photograph, anything. At long last I found her record, her only identification a snapshot taken while she was unconscious. Judging from the large bruise on the left side of her face, she'd have a terrible headache when she awoke. Where were they taking her? The scrawling hand indicated that she was bound for a camp in upstate New York -- not far from an area I once called home not so long ago. I chuckled darkly at the irony of a concentration camp standing where a Nazi survivor based his Dream . . . Oh, Magnus, if you could only be here . . . I folded the record into sixths und slid it under my left arm bracer. It was time to go.  
  
I chose my route among the railroad tracks from the map I took from another office on my way out. I traveled on foot, camouflaged by the wilderness left untended along the edges of the tracks. I had only my thoughts to keep me company now, and they were jumbled and tangled. As I trudged on I thought about the last days I spent back home and why I had continued when everyone else had ceased. I thought about this new world, how everything was so different that I would never fit in . . . except, perhaps, with Miriam. She intrigued me in a way that very few people ever did. She'd been frightened of me at first - not at all unusual - but had swallowed that fear to offer me her trust. Along with trust she'd offered friendship and that, I confess threw me for a loop. I realized I'd grown to like her very much, so much that I was heading into clearly defined and hostile enemy territory to retrieve her. Growing uncomfortable with the emotions the line of thought invoked, I wiped my mind clean and kept walking.  
  
I was three days on the trail when I heard the sound of an approaching locomotive. I stopped and listened; it was coming from behind me so I waited for it to arrive and went aboard, stowing away in a car loaded with barrels of cured meat like a demonic hobo. I kept an eye out for the Westchester stop and let myself off before I was discovered, teleporting past the gates and into the camp itself. I moved slowly among the shadows of the buildings, watching each person who passed to no avail. Finally, behind the kitchens, a small portion of my luck returned.  
  
"She's not here," one of the prisoners said softly, head bent over her work. I kept perfectly still and watched her as she slowly emptied her refuse cans into the bins outside. "Can you hear me, Nightcrawler?" she dared to raise her voice a little. "It's Esther, from Charleston."  
  
I checked my surprise before whispering back, "Ja, I hear you. Was she taken to a different camp?"  
  
"No," she gave her can an extra shake to make more time, "she's been taken to Berlin-"  
  
I dropped my tail down, wrapped it around one of her wrists, and teleported us in two jumps to the now-deserted rail cars outside the complex. Her first reaction was to double over and retch; I pushed the doors closed behind us for privacy and waited politely for her to finish.  
  
"What did you just do?" she stared at me, eyes wide with alarm.  
  
"I took us someplace where we can talk," I answered. "You'll be fine in a moment. You're not the first person whose insides turned themselves out after that."  
  
"What are you?" Her breath came in shallow gasps and she watched me warily.  
  
"Decidedly not from around here," I sighed. "I won't hurt you, Esther. But you mentioned Miriam and Berlin in the same breath?"  
  
"Yes," she sat down across the car from me. "An official who was visiting decided he liked her and took her back to Berlin with him."  
  
I felt my stomach tighten into a stone.  
  
"I'm very sorry, Nightcrawler," her eyes were sad. "She spoke highly of you, and had faith you'd come for her. She didn't want to go."  
  
The feelings that so disturbed and confused me re-surfaced at these words; I walled off my heart to focus on more pressing matters. "You know all the Underground stops, nicht wahr?"  
  
"All the ones along this seaboard. Why?" she frowned.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I paced the floor of the living room, waiting for the host at the New York City stop to arrive. Esther sat in one of the armchairs with a book in her lap, reading calmly. I took in the luxurious surroundings - walls lined with leather-bound volumes, overstuffed couches and chairs, a handful of mahogany tables scattered throughout . . .  
  
"Esther!" The doors to the room burst open, admitting a middle-aged man of Aryan perfection: fair skin, fair hair, and light blue eyes. His tailored clothing was every bit as rich as his surroundings. "Esther, darling, they told me you were intercepted weeks ago!"  
  
"Hello, Dorian!" she embraced him and exchanged pecks on cheeks. "Yes, I was, but Nightcrawler here was good enough to help change that."  
  
I stopped pacing and regarded Dorian silently, gauging his reaction to me. He appeared unfazed and extended his hand.  
  
"So you're Nightcrawler," he smiled as we shook our introductions. "Yes, Mama Abigail sent word about you with her conductors. She rather fancies you, I think."  
  
"Oh, really?" I raised an eyebrow. "Just what did she have to say?"  
  
"To remember that appearances can be deceiving and to please extend our hospitality if ever you came to call." His eyes swept the room. "Where is Miriam? Mama said you were traveling together."  
  
"Heidelmann's taken her overseas," Esther spoke up.  
  
"Oh my word," Dorian's hand went to his throat. "How very dreadful! You must tell me everything over dinner."  
  
It seemed to me that Dorian must be in good standing with the Nazis to live in such opulence. We were served a formal meal of several courses, all brought out by servants, and supplied with an endless flow of fine wine. Esther trusted our host enough to grow drowsy from drink, but I politely declined past the second glass. As we ate I told Dorian of our travels until the Nazis found us, omitting any mention of the complexities of our acquaintance; Esther then described how this man Heidelmann had interviewed Miriam before having her transferred into his possession and put on an airplane with him to Germany.  
  
Dorian approached me later that night after Esther had excused herself to bed. I'd taken a seat in the library to tend to my weapons; he took a seat opposite the low table from me and offered me a drink. I declined and watched from the corner of my eye as he poured one for himself.  
  
"You're quite fond of Miriam," he replaced the stopper into the mouth of the decanter.  
  
"What makes you think that?" I kept my eyes on my sword as I sharpened it.  
  
"No one would go after someone as you did unless that person were of import," he gestured gracefully with his tumbler of bourbon. "Do you intend to track her still?"  
  
"I'm thinking about it," I tried to sound neutral.  
  
"Ah, well, there is a lot to consider, after all," he took a sip of his drink. "Not the least of which is passage to Europe. I could help you with that - if you choose to go, of course."  
  
I looked up from my work. He was gazing back languidly from over the rim of the tumbler. "What sort of help are you offering?"  
  
"I could convince a good friend of mine to allow you passage aboard his ship. He routinely makes merchant runs to Spain, you see."  
  
"Nothing is without its cost," I sheathed one sword and began working on the other.  
  
"This is true, and the Underground owes you for retrieving Esther and escorting her safely back. She's one of our best guides, you know."  
  
I pondered this for a moment, polishing the steel silently.  
  
"Of course, you may decide to stay on this side of the pond," Dorian spoke again in the same lazy way. "If so, I hope you'll consider joining our effort. I hear you make an excellent conductor."  
  
I couldn't sleep that night and so I laid awake on the bed, staring at the ornately-patterned ceiling. I tried to reason with myself concerning where I would go and what I would do. My mind said to Hell with this resistance and keep going to Canada. I could make my life there and never be bothered by anyone again. I wouldn't have to fight, I wouldn't have to be stared at or run from. So many times during so many missions I'd longed for such an opportunity, so why not take it? But my heart responded powerfully, magnifying its unease until I couldn't deny it anymore and was forced to confront myself. It wasn't that I wanted to be alone and a recluse hiding from the world, I reflected. What I really wanted was to be accepted for who I was by those around me. I wanted to peacefully co-exist; I wanted to see Magneto's inherited Dream thrive. So what if this hadn't been my world before? Like it or not, this was my world now. Even if I had a way to traverse realities, the one I'd come from no longer existed. I smiled faintly at the memory of my mom singing some song about that while hanging the wash years and years ago - what were the words? You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave? That was my situation; denying it wouldn't help anything.  
  
Okay, so what then? If I couldn't be at ease with running and hiding, and I couldn't abide by the laws of this land, I was by default a part of the resistance. I'd be risking my life every day to do whatever work I chose to take on, so why not risk everything to find Miriam? But why Miriam, I argued with myself. What was it about her that compelled me to go after her? I shuffled through the last two months or so and tried to find the reason. She was pleasant and witty company; she had integrity and honor; she had a good balance of toughness and compassion. She wasn't at all hard on the eyes, as dad would have said, and she felt so good lying next to me on the few occasions when that had happened. I tried to dismiss my drive to follow her as lusting after her, but that wasn't it either . . . it was more than that. Finally the epiphany came to me. Most of my life I'd always felt homesick for something I couldn't define; at times I'd thought it might have been peace in life, but we'd never had that, not really. There were plenty of times growing up that our neighbors tried to run us out of town because of our genes - my childhood had been anything but peaceful. It was the stability I craved. She'd been with me from the first moment I set foot in this world, and she'd made the decision to befriend me when she could have just as easily been pissed off that I'd basically taken her hostage. She refused to be my victim from that first night at Mama Abigail's and refused to be intimidated when I tried to shift the relationship back to the balance of power that lasted so briefly on the rooftops of Charleston. She seemed to see us as equals; judging from her reaction to my momentary loss of control the last time I saw her, it seemed she might have wanted us to be something else besides friends, too. That idea stirred something to life deep inside my defenses, something I wasn't yet ready to admit to myself. But my decision had been made and I was at ease with it now. Weary from the hard traveling of the past days, I dropped into a deep slumber and slept in until lunch the next day. 


	10. Nightcrawler

It was nearing one o'clock in the afternoon by the time I was washed and dressed and ready to rejoin my host. I found Dorian and Esther taking coffee together in the kitchen, engaged in a heated discussion.  
  
"It's absurd to say there's no such thing as Evil!" Esther adjusted her grip on her mug and flared, "What do you call the Nazis?"  
  
"I call them the ruling class," Dorian responded with infuriating calm. "Good and Evil are abstract concepts; they are ideas. Ideas change from person to person, therefore there can be no concrete set of what defines those ideas. The parameters are simply too broad."  
  
I shook my head and poured a cup of coffee for myself, listening to Esther's rebuttal. This was going to be amusing.  
  
"No, they aren't! There are certain things that every decent person finds wrong-"  
  
"Another abstract," Dorian interjected.  
  
"-and would therefore be considered Evil," Esther's voice rose to drown out Dorian's. "Murder is wrong. Rape is wrong. Theft is wrong."  
  
"Unless you're a Nazi."  
  
"That's why they're Evil!"  
  
"But they're the majority. And according to your own definitions, it is the majority who sets the parameters concerning good and bad behavior. So which is it?"  
  
"That's not what I said." Esther's cheeks were red, her beverage forgotten for the moment. "I said nothing about a majority."  
  
I took one of the chairs from the table and placed it closer to the counter before sitting. Dorian waved his hello without breaking his stride. "So you're telling me that most of the civilized world is morally bankrupt, then?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Prove it."  
  
"Prove it??"  
  
"Yes, prove it." Dorian smiled genially and sipped his coffee. "History is written by those in power. The newspapers, the textbooks, the novels in the bookstores, the radio and picture stations, even our minds are ultimately shaped into the view the Nazis would have us see. So prove to me that you are right and so many others are wrong."  
  
"Just look at the opposition to Hitler in the Forties. The U.S., the U.K. Canada-"  
  
"-Are all part of the Reich. Can you cite sources? Produce a photograph? Play an audio recording, perhaps?"  
  
"You know as well as I do that they were all destroyed." Esther's face deepened in color as she realized the corner she was in.  
  
I smiled behind the cup in my hands.  
  
"Then how do you know that what you've heard is true? What is your verification?" Dorian tried to keep his face straight.  
  
"Oh! You're just impossible, Dorian!!" Esther turned her attention to me. "You understand what I'm saying, don't you, Nightcrawler."  
  
"I see what you're saying, Esther, but Dorian's points are valid as well. It's a terrible Catch-22 to do what we do."  
  
"Catch-22?" Dorian inquired politely; Esther didn't seem to understand the phrase either.  
  
"How do you say-" I gestured impatiently as my mind translated, "-to be caught between the Devil und the deep blue sea. To choose the Nazis we are Evil to ourselves, aber to choose to fight against them we are Evil to them und called terrorists. Who is right?"  
  
"We are." Esther's eyes flashed fire.  
  
"Warum?" I asked.  
  
"Because we have to live with ourselves," she held my eyes.  
  
I thought of something similar mom said on the Avalon run about that, about how I didn't know what she had to do to survive, and smiled sadly at the memory. "I respect that," I said softly and stared into my mug, which prompted an uncomfortable silence among the three of us.  
  
"So, um, you said you're not from around here?" Esther addressed me again.  
  
"No, I'm not," I answered cautiously.  
  
"Did you grow up in Germany?"  
  
"Yes, I did." No need to tell them it was on a different planet. I didn't trust them enough for that, even though I couldn't tell myself why it mattered one way or another. "My mother und I lived in the Black Forest for a time."  
  
"When did you come over?" Esther had finished her coffee and was pouring a refill.  
  
I stopped to think about that. How old had I been? "About thirteen years ago," I finally answered, shrugging.  
  
"Which do you like better?" Esther asked.  
  
"Ach, that's like apples und oranges. If I went back now I wouldn't recognize it." I turned my attention back to Dorian. "I do, however, find myself homesick these days."  
  
Dorian smiled knowingly; Esther smiled too and excused herself to another part of the house so he and I could talk business.  
  
"Mike's next jaunt to Europe is in three days. He has no problem stowing you aboard so long as you keep a low profile."  
  
"Kein problem," I nodded. "He knows about my appearance?"  
  
"And doesn't care. For the right price Mike would kidnap the baby Jesus and hold him for ransom." Dorian selected a cookie from the tray set out on the table.  
  
"He's a pirate, then." I frowned - dealing with bartered loyalty was always dangerous.  
  
"Oh, that's such an ugly word!" He pulled a face. "We prefer the term 'black market appropriators'. It's much more respectable, don't you think?" Dorian partook of his food and drink before continuing, "You've nothing to worry about, I assure you. He knows that if he crosses me I can ruin him in a day's time, and he owes me for my assistance in straightening out a most unfortunate mistake that resulted in his arrest and the impounding of his fleet."  
  
I chuckled and held to my decision, much to Dorian's delight. The three days wait was spent doing nothing productive; I spent most of it in the library or in my borrowed room with something taken from the library. I'd not realized how much I missed sitting down to a good book and made up for the years of going without written word by devouring one novel after another. I didn't recognize it at first, but becoming engrossed in the parade of books kept my sanity in check by giving me something to think about besides her and what injustices Heidelmann might be inflicting upon her. Such distractions were not available once aboard the ship, however, and my dreamless sleep was the only respite from my overactive imagination.  
  
I'd felt some hesitation about boarding Johnny's Ghost the first day because my last trip aboard a submarine did not go well, but the captain had taken me aboard before his crew arrived and allowed me to see first- hand that his modified U-boat was in top condition. Michael McMurray had chosen the unusual name to honor his older brother, who'd been shot dead some years ago over a woman's honor; Michael had been Jonathan's first mate and partner in crime many years beforehand. They'd managed through some sort of convoluted chicanery to appropriate the ship, keeping intact the designation as a friendly vessel and the existing weapons systems. They'd also added more firepower and converted portions inside to accommodate certain types of cargo. For this trip Herr Kapitan was hauling primarily recreational substances which he would barter for luxuries like rich fabrics, fine wine and liquor, and gold in various forms. I was the only human to be smuggled this trip, and so I had the secret cabin to myself.  
  
"How are we holding up?" McMurray asked as he handed me the tray of food. I took the rations and he shut the door behind himself. "Good trip?"  
  
"Not that good," I smiled, dipping one of the rock-hard biscuits into the tea. "I haven't touched your cargo."  
  
McMurray laughed and hopped onto the top bunk. "You don't strike me as being that type."  
  
"I'm not." I'd found that the best way to choke down these nearly-inedible biscuits was quickly; as soon as it reached a manageable consistency I ate it and started the next one.  
  
"If it's too personal you can tell me to stow it, but why are you making this run alone?" He watched me eat. "Most refugees travel in groups, but you don't seem like the typical refugee."  
  
I knocked back the last of the tea before answering. "If you can't see the obvious," I flicked my tail for emphasis, "then you need to stow it."  
  
"Yeah, but why are you making the crossing?" he pressed.  
  
Before I could tell him to mind his own business, something else caught our attention. We felt the ship tremble before the lights flickered; McMurray was thrown from the bunk and I nearly lost my own balance.  
  
"God damn it!" McMurray got to his feet and punched the intercom. "Franks! What the hell's going on?"  
  
"We've been ID'd somehow, sir," the response crackled back. "They're dropping depth charges on us. No U-ies yet, but I'm sure that'll change."  
  
I cursed under my breath.  
  
McMurray headed for the bridge. "You're in this too," he gestured for me to follow. "Let's go see what's going on."  
  
"It's bad, sir," Franks glanced over his shoulder to address his captain once we arrived. "No direct damage yet, but the way they're dropping them we'll be sunk before we're to shore."  
  
"How many ships?" We braced ourselves as another blast rocked the submarine.  
  
"Two. They've radioed for the U-boats; ETA is in three," the woman in front of the communications board answered McMurray.  
  
"This isn't good," he spoke softly; I could tell he was wracking his brains for a way out with minimum casualties.  
  
"How far are we from land?" I asked the navigator, a skinny kid of no more than sixteen.  
  
"We're fifteen miles off the coast," he glanced at me nervously. "But we won't get that far--"  
  
"With your permission, Herr Kapitan?" I raised an eyebrow at McMurray; he nodded. "Get as close as you can as fast as you can without taking a direct hit."  
  
"And do what??" Franks was incredulous.  
  
"Und get on your life jackets. We're going swimming."  
  
Three hours later I was finally on the shore, gasping for air just as the crew of the ship was.  
  
"How . . . did you . . . do that?" McMurray heaved in lungfuls of air and stared up at the sky.  
  
"Do what?" I felt like a drowned cat and suspected I looked much the same -- but I still had my life, armor, and swords. I wasn't going to start bitching now.  
  
"That thing," he clapped his hands together. "When you got us out of range . . ."  
  
"I could tell you but I'd have to kill you," I smiled wearily. "Rest assured, I'm feeling worse than any of you." I surrendered to gravity's call and stayed sprawled on the sand. "Und it loses its novelty after a while."  
  
"Hey, you're alright," the navigator gasped and tapped my shoulder. "What's your name?"  
  
"Nightcrawler."  
  
"I'm Roberts. I owe ya, man."  
  
"Schmidt," another voice spoke up.  
  
"Rohleder," communications introduced herself. The rest of the crew offered names despite their reservations about me -- I was undoubtedly the weirdest- looking person they'd ever seen, but they all thanked me.  
  
"They won't always be so bad . . ." Miriam's voice echoed in my memories, prompting a stab of mixed emotions that left a sick feeling in my stomach. I hoped she was okay; I devised yet another painful death for anyone who would dare abuse her.  
  
"So, you're willing to brave explosions, the Naval fleet, and drowning to reach Europe," McMurray commented much later as we parted ways. "Whatever it is that brought you here, is it worth it?"  
  
"Was it worth it to Johnny?" I smiled as much as I could with my worries.  
  
McMurray clapped me on the back. "Good luck," he sighed before I set off on the long over-land trek to Berlin. 


	11. Miriam

I was a guest in Erich's home for about a week before I was handed a set of keys that unlocked the doors to a flat in downtown Berlin; he insisted that people would get the wrong idea if I didn't have my own residence, and so he'd arranged for the rent until I could draw my own salary. As with everything else he's lavished on me, Erich made sure I had stylish but comfortable furniture throughout the apartment, pretty decorations scattered here and there, and a nice view out of each of my windows. I was granted three days to settle in, and then I started my job at the Ministry of Intelligence.  
  
I didn't expect to be given access to anything requiring a security clearance and I was not to be surprised -- the bulk of my work consisted of answering Erich's phone calls, transferring memos to the office or internal post, filing documents, typing letters . . . it was interesting enough, but it didn't tell me exactly what it was he did for the Code-breaking Division. All I could gather was that he was a manager of sorts, an overseer, and that some of the people working under him were in English- speaking areas -- my bilingualism came in very handy here, as I was also responsible for translating back and forth. I worked at things for several weeks, my dull sense of unease growing by the day. He'd said he also wanted my company as an escort when he went out after work, but he'd not called on me for that. Waiting constantly for the other shoe to drop was keeping me on edge.  
  
I was in Germany for just over a month when Erich called me into his office for a private meeting. I swallowed nervously, fretted over an imaginary wrinkle in my skirt, and answered his request. I'd been in his office before, but only briefly as I deposited a report or a handful of notes on his desk. Now I was sitting in one of the chairs before that desk and watching Erich pour himself a drink.  
  
"Are you sure you wouldn't like something, Miriam?" he smiled at me with an expression that probably made most women swoon.  
  
"Ice water would be nice," I buckled. He handed me the requested beverage and I murmured my thanks.  
  
"How are you enjoying your work?" He leaned against a corner of his desk. "Is it stimulating enough for you?"  
  
"Yes," I sipped at my water, "it's a good position. Do I need improvement?"  
  
"No, you're doing just fine," he smiled. "I'm quite pleased with you. You're courteous, discreet, organized . . ." He regarded me thoughtfully. "But also reserved, perhaps sad. Is everything okay for you?"  
  
"It's all a big change for me, that's all." I tried to smile. "It's a different world from what I'm used to."  
  
"Is there anything I can do to ease your adjustment?" Erich swallowed some of the amber liquid in his glass.  
  
I blushed. "Well, you did mention that you want me to go to public functions with you. I must say it makes me nervous to not know when this will happen."  
  
"I apologize, my dear. I was postponing those engagements because I didn't want to overwhelm you!" He chuckled and set his drink down on the blotter. "I did receive an invitation to have lunch with some family friends later this week. I think that would be a good way to make your introduction, actually."  
  
"I don't think I understand . . ." I swallowed another sip of water.  
  
"Oh, it's a bit stupid, really," Erich sighed and gestured dismissively. "One does not simply show up to formal events with someone unknown to the other attendees. It's improper, so anyone from outside needs to be introduced in an informal setting to create the right impressions and get the right gossip going."  
  
"Is that possible given the difference in our backgrounds?" It seemed like an obvious question to me -- it wasn't like it would be easy to ignore a string of numbers ending in a large blue star should anyone see my arms. Then I remembered that all of my formal gowns included long sleeves or gloves in their design. My informal clothes were a different matter though . . .  
  
"Certain perceived inequalities can be glossed over," he answered with the same ease. "To do so is my responsibility; you don't need to worry about that."  
  
Translation: I'm his property, so as long as I'm pretty and proper no one will say anything rude.  
  
I resisted the urge to vomit.  
  
"Shall I block out that time for you?" I smiled sweetly at him.  
  
"Yes, please. We will be taking lunch at my father's house on Thursday afternoon. Free up our schedules between the hours of eleven and one."  
  
I nodded and scratched this down on the little notepad I'd learned to keep with me -- Erich frequently had things for me to jot down on a second's notice, and I'd grown used to it. "Is there anything else, Erich?"  
  
"No, you're free to go." He smiled again.  
  
I blushed, although I'm not sure why, and rose from my seat. I'd turned the doorknob and was half-way into the hall when he called me back in.  
  
"Miriam? Why don't you wear that adorable green dress on Thursday, the one with the white accents? It brings out your eyes so well." He swirled his drink so that it made a miniature whirlpool in his glass.  
  
"Certainly," I said, blushing deeper before retreating to my desk.  
  
When I got home that night I pulled out the dress to which Erich had made reference, laid it flat on the bed, and stared at it as though it were the enemy. It wasn't that Erich was wrong about the dress, it did flatter me, but the fact that he'd requested this one specifically meant he'd be eying me more so than usual as soon as he saw me in it. He was still a perfect gentleman; he never leered at me or made inappropriate comments, but I could feel his eyes on me when he knew I couldn't see him. I was especially self-conscious about the way my hips swayed as I walked in my heels because I knew he was watching appreciatively. I shuddered, closed my eyes, and turned my back on my bed and the dress to walk into the kitchenette and wash my dishes from dinner. My eyes stung as I rinsed the plates under the tap; I hated feeling like a piece of meat. I hated that I was in Berlin, and I hated that I was trapped inside this gilded cage. A car passed by in the street, its headlamps shining through the darkness outside to twinkle on my windows; I looked up with a quickening of my pulse, for I was reminded instinctively of Nightcrawler's eyes. I realized my mistake and wilted even more, my tears heavy on my lashes. Oh God, I missed him. It was the worst at night; I'd sometimes sit at the window and look up at the stars as I recalled our time together and the direction things had begun to turn. I felt relatively sure that he'd try to find me; he'd possibly have gone inside the Westchester compound if he had enough to track me. But Berlin? I tried to weed out that hope each time it took root. There was simply too much against it . . . he'd have to know I was taken away and not killed. He'd have to know where in Berlin to start looking -- the city was sprawling and very crowded. Then there was the matter of getting across the Atlantic somehow. All of that was contingent, of course, on whether or not I was worth that much to him. I had my doubts . . . it was one thing to kick someone's ass to bail me out of trouble. It was entirely something else to face a very real threat of death to rescue me when we barely knew each other.  
  
I set some water to boiling and got out a cup, saucer, and tea bag. As the water heated I went back to my bedroom to hang up the dress and change into my nightclothes. I blindly grabbed the first slip I could find and covered myself with my robe, padding through the apartment in bare feet. I sank into the armchair with my steaming cup of tea resting on the table beside me and picked up the novel I was reading. I couldn't focus on the words though and finally laid it pages-down on my knee, head bowed in sorrow. I felt hopeless, trapped, and completely forsaken. I talked to God as I wept, asking for some sign of hope or meaning beyond being an aristocrat's meat puppet. I was answered by silence and a deeper feeling of being a hollow shell; I fell asleep in the chair with salty tracks drying on my face and a full cup of cold tea next to me.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The lunch date with Erich's family went well enough, I suppose. No one asked me any awkward questions about my tattoos, although I was the focus of a lot of attention. The ladies present commented on my dress, complimented me on my purse, and claimed to admire my dusky skin. I smiled nicely and made similar comments on their appearances, taking mental notes on who each of them were and any importance and connections they had. The men congregated together to have a drink and talk about whatever it was they bonded over; I wasn't able to hear much but I gathered that they were following some sort of sporting event. Lunch was served outside on a screened-in porch, with ceiling fans lazily stirring the air about so that the scent of Mrs. Heidelmann's flowers permeated every breath we took. I ate sparingly because I was so nervous I was afraid I wouldn't be able to keep much of it down; after dessert was finished I excused myself to use the water closet because I felt like I would scream if I didn't have a moment to myself to string my facade back together.  
  
"Miriam, dear?" one of the ladies called through the door as she rapped softly on the wood. "Are you well?"  
  
I glared wide-eyed at the reflection of the door, my painted lips pressed tightly together in exasperation. Really, it had been less than five minutes! Surely cultured ladies occasionally required time for the baser bodily functions the same as anyone else! Not that I was so engaged, but still . . .  
  
"Yes, I'm fine, thank you. I'll be out in just a moment." I capped my lipstick tube and stuffed it back into my purse, fluffed my curls, and tried to calm down. I hoped she was still outside -- I wanted to add to my mental notes which of the ladies it was so that I made sure to never use the facilities in her presence again.  
  
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Elizabeth," I apologized for nothing as nicely as I could and tried to make my way back to the porch; I stopped in my tracks when Elizabeth gently touched my left arm, the one with the marks.  
  
"Be careful," she said in a very low voice, her eyes serious.  
  
"About what?" I blinked and tried to stay just vapid enough to fit in.  
  
"He gets bored easily. As soon as he loses interest in you, your life will be forfeit," she let go of me but stayed where she was.  
  
I turned to face her fully. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I get the impression that such concerns are not yours."  
  
We stared into each others eyes for a moment before she broke the silence between us. "I've seen the look behind your eyes before, you know. It burns, doesn't it? To know that there's nothing but walls around you, and that there's nowhere to go even if you could escape?"  
  
I felt my jaw trembling and checked my desire to launch a punch at her. What the Hell did she know about that?  
  
"How would you like to stick it to him for every time he sticks it to you?" Elizabeth's smile had slowly grown a bit cold around the edges, her eyes hardening so slowly that I didn't see it until now.  
  
"Go on . . ." My eyes narrowed as I regarded her shrewdly.  
  
"There you two are!" Mrs. Heidelmann's voice trilled through the house, her heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floors as she neared us.  
  
"So sorry Margaret," Elizabeth went from ice queen to twittering pixie in .2 seconds. "We lost track of ourselves; do forgive us."  
  
"Of course!" Margaret cried, escorting us back to the party.  
  
"But as I was saying, Miriam dear," Elizabeth picked up where she'd never left off, "I'll be more than happy to send over a sample of that facial masque."  
  
"Oh yes, Elizabeth finds the most wonderful things, doesn't she? You'll love it; I always have such a glow when I use it," the elder woman beamed at us both before we resumed our seats. Erich and the other men had lit cigars and their wives were inhaling from cigarettes, chatter going in all directions. I was offered a cigarette but declined politely, citing an imaginary case of bronchitis that always seemed to flare up when I smoked; that got me off the hook nicely and bypassed an explanation of the real reason that undoubtedly would have come out the wrong way -- the Torah admonishes to preserve our bodies and not knowingly do harm to ourselves. We were brought out a pot of coffee and a tray loaded with sugar, cream, and enough cups for everyone; I sipped at my coffee and listened carefully to everyone around me, providing answers to their questions when I was addressed directly. Erich smiled at me from above the lip of his mug, his eyes twinkling happily as he regarded me.  
  
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked me once we were in his car and heading back to the Ministry.  
  
"No," I smiled demurely, "it wasn't. Your parents seem very nice, and I enjoyed the other ladies."  
  
"Good." Erich attacked me with the swoon-inducing smile again and reached across the seat to caress my jaw with the backs of his fingers. "Everyone was rather taken by you, you know. My father especially liked you, and he's a hard man to please."  
  
"I take it all the right gossip will be making the rounds now?"  
  
"I should say so."  
  
A lump formed in my throat when Erich moved closer, his eyes never leaving mine. Elizabeth's words haunted me and I decided it was time to take some sort of control over my fate; I decided I wasn't going to lose his interest and took a gambit. My fingers traced over his as I shifted so that we were closer still, and I darted my tongue over my lips.  
  
"Hmmmm . . ." He seemed pleased that my lips were pressing against his and he kissed me back, his thumb brushing against my cheek. He nipped gently at my lower lip and quickly kissed the same spot, moving his attention to my jaw and down my neck.  
  
I sighed and pulled away, apologizing for being so forward as I straightened my dress. I lowered my eyes and had the good grace to blush deeply as I said that we should try to remain professional while in public. Erich agreed reluctantly, his eyes betraying that he had other things besides work on his mind, but he was straightening his clothes and removing all trace of my lipstick from his skin. Moments later he was back in his office and I was back behind my desk, contemplating the magnitude of what I'd just started.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
velvetine*rose: Here's a special note just for you. Please enjoy responsibly.  
  
Koryne: I'm glad you're enjoying the story. If you're interested in learning more about Nightcrawler, I recommend getting hold of some of the older X-Men comic books or the Excalibur series. The version you're seeing is a rarity -- an alternative version of the character showcased in only four comic books as part of a story arc titled The Age of Apocalypse. As you learn more about Kurt you'll see that while some things stayed the same, some things for him were quite different.  
  
Beryl: I know just what you mean. The last comics I read actually were the Age of Apocalypse and maybe one or two issues of X-Men after that. The last thing I remember is Bishop getting back home and trying to kill Scott and Hank because he thought he was still in the AoA world. Now I go into the shops and flip through, and Kurt's a priest . . . *does double take* Huh?? *laugh* I'm glad you're enjoying seeing things from Kurt's POV. There's some really good stuff coming up with that. As for going by his given name -- no, not really. He struck me as being a very shuttered, very secretive person in this version, and so it would seem odd to me if he just went about giving out his name to people now that he has virtual anonymity. In addition is the fact that being Nightcrawler is different from being Kurt Darkholme . . . it's a mask for him in a place where he still has to be as strong and as hardened as he is capable of in order to not only keep himself alive, but now to rescue someone else against some staggering odds. He'll completely drop the mask and take off the armor eventually, but not for a while yet. As for what's going on with Miriam . . . *glances meaningfully down at the chapter* "Und" = "And" in German. I'm going to go back and clean that up when I get a moment -- I realize I've not been consistent in changing that only during Kurt's dialogue.  
  
Missa Rhiannon: *bows* Well, thank you m'dear!  
  
Colleen: I'm glad the revisions worked for you, too. Miriam's a giant Barbie doll, eh? *turns up "Barbie Girl" by Aqua*  
  
MG: Thanks for the feedback, and stay tuned. You liked McMurray, huh? Cool!  
  
Apteryx: Glad to see you on board, and good to know you're enjoying the story. :) 


	12. Miriam

I received a parcel in the post that weekend from Elizabeth. As promised, she'd sent a sample of a facial masque; I examined the box and packaging for additional items but there were none -- just the clay masque, and a brief note.  
  
"Dearest Miriam," the note began, "I do hope my surprise finds you well and in good spirits. Please let me know right away what you think -- I suspect this is just what you've been looking for. Regards, Elizabeth."  
  
My brow bunched in thought as I pondered her choice of wording. The surprise wasn't the clay -- she'd said she'd send some. I checked the box yet again but found nothing. Then an idea hit me; maybe there wasn't just the beauty aid in the jar. I unscrewed the lid to find out just as the doorbell rang.  
  
"Erich!" I blinked rapidly as I took in his form. "What are you doing here?" I ushered him in, absently twisting the top back on the jar and dumping it unceremoniously back into the parcel box.  
  
"I came to see if you'd like to go to the park with me," he smiled, presenting me with a bright bouquet of tulips. "I hope I'm not imposing upon you."  
  
"Not at all," I lied. "I'm afraid I'm not prepared to go at the moment . . ."  
  
"I'll wait while you get ready," he sank into the couch in the living room.  
  
I offered Erich something to drink, which he declined, before shutting myself in my bedroom to change clothes. I'd taken the flowers in with me, and they beamed across the room at me as I put on some stockings. I could take a good guess just what he had in mind for the park and thought about the not-so-chaste kiss we'd shared earlier in the week. But I couldn't complain, and I couldn't go back. I'd set my foot upon this path and now I had to walk it.  
  
We traveled the footpaths of the park for a little while, chatting idly about the summer landscaping and the antics of the ducks who lived on the pond. My hand was around Erich's arm as it had been during that night in the camp and he seemed content with that. It wasn't until we sat at one of the benches that he changed that by sliding his arm around my waist.  
  
"Isn't this just the perfect day?" he asked, face upturned to the summer sun.  
  
"Yes, it is quite nice," I smiled as his fingers caressed my hip. "It's a lovely day to be outside."  
  
"We've been invited to another luncheon," he said with a brief glance in my direction. "Felix Kohler is a friend of mine from Gymnasium, and his wife Margot heard such nice things about you," the caress became a squeeze, "that she insists upon meeting you."  
  
"We mustn't disappoint them," I moved closer and smiled at him. Ugh, I was glad I couldn't see myself.  
  
"No," he leaned in, "we mustn't . . ."  
  
The kiss was brief but intense enough for Erich to flag down one of the shade-providing covered wagons that drove couples through the park for money. We made out within our rented privacy for as long as the Ten-Mark note lasted, Erich's enthusiasm real and mine manufactured. He asked me to dinner and a show and I accepted, making sure things didn't go too far -- had to leave something to the imagination, after all. Instead I apologized for having to return home to complete my domestic chores, a perfectly good reason to request that he take me home.  
  
"I'll see you in the morning," Erich's disappointment was accentuated by the puppy-dog eyes he managed to level at me. Oh, why did he have to be so damned cute about that??  
  
"See you then," I smiled and brushed his lips with mine before shutting the door between us. I waited silently, counting to dreizig-Bahnhoffstrasse* before stripping off my clothes, running the tap as hot as it would go without burning me, and scrubbing every inch of my skin to get his touch off of me. My hands shook as I lathered the washcloth yet again, and I cursed myself for starting this. If this was how I handled it with clothes on, how in Heaven's name would I manage it when it came down to having to sleep with him? I felt sick just thinking about that . . .  
  
I left the shower only after the hot tap produced merely lukewarm water, dried myself off, and put on the frumpiest nightshirt I owned out of spite. I walked through the apartment to the parcel I'd been interrupted from inspecting and re-opened it. I shrugged and spread the clay over my face, the contents enough for one application, and then smiled slowly as I saw the bottom of the container. I washed it out in the sink to reveal the entire message written in permanent pen overlaid by a thin layer of plastic. It was a day, time, and street address; nothing more. Today was the day of the week listed -- Sunday -- so I glanced at the clock in the bedroom. Whatever meeting this was, it would be held in a little under an hour from now. The address was across town from my flat; I'd have to hurry if I were going tonight.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The address belonged to a dilapidated tavern in one of the worst neighborhoods in Berlin, one of the neighborhoods one drove through quickly with locked car doors to prevent being mugged at the stop lights. I shivered and bit my lower lip in my apprehension, and thought about turning back. This had to be the wrong place . . . A cat-call from across the street had me scurrying through the doors and into what I hoped was some kind of shelter from the perceived dangers outside.  
  
The taproom was dark, hazy, and reeked of someone's cheap cigars. Towards the back of the establishment someone was singing to the crowd as he strummed a guitar. I looked around for any potential gatherings but found none. I backed up a step as I assessed my surroundings, sinking into a chair at the deserted table behind me.  
  
"Hallo liebchen, kann ich Sie kaufen ein Getränk?" ["Hey baby, can I buy you a drink?"] someone at a nearby table slurred as he leered at me.  
  
I ignored him and took a deep breath to calm myself down. They wouldn't meet in an open area like this if this group was what I thought it might be. No, they'd be meeting in a hidden room in the back or something. But how would I find out? Just walk up to the barkeep and say, "Excuse me sir, but I'm here for the Resistance movement meeting. Am I early?"  
  
"Ich spreche mit Ihnen!" ["I'm talkin' to you!"] the drunk got louder and rose from his chair.  
  
"Ich bin nicht interessiert," ["I'm not interested"] I replied smoothly, sounding more calm than I felt. I got up when I saw that he wasn't going to sit back down.  
  
"Aber ich bin an Ihnen interessiert," ["But I'm interested in you"] he leered again and grabbed for me. My left arm went out instinctively to block him and I took a few steps back to keep some distance. He kept coming though, and I noticed that while everyone in the bar was now watching us instead of the scheduled entertainment, no one was moving to intercede.  
  
"Scheisse," I hissed under my breath when he reached for me again. I blocked him once more and popped him in the face with my free hand, which I'd curled into a fist. "Ich sagte mich bin interessiert nicht," ["I said I'm not interested"] I repeated.  
  
"Weibchen!" ["Bitch!"] he spat and dove for me in an unsuccessful attempt to tackle me to the ground. I stepped out of the way, glad for the dim lighting when I put my leg out to trip him as he went past. As he sprawled on the ground a few of the men at the other tables rose from their chairs and hooted with amusement.  
  
"Sie sind pathetisch! Sie erhalten Schlag oben durch ein Mädchen!" ["You're pathetic! You're getting beat up by a girl!"] one of the younger men shouted between bellows of laughter.  
  
I watched him from my fighting stance as he got to his feet. A smile crossed his face as his eyes watched something over my right shoulder -- I spun around and rabbit-punched the man who'd been sneaking up behind me, his nose cracking sickly beneath my knuckles.  
  
"Verdammen Sie es!" ["Damn it!"] He backed away, hands covering his broken nose, blood dripping from between his fingers.  
  
"Werden Sie getan?" ["Are you done?"] I turned back to the drunken man who'd by this time reached the door and had his hand on the handle. He left the bar as gracefully as he could manage under the circumstances and I swept my eyes over the bar, hands still up as though I could actually take on someone who wasn't tanked or surprised. "Wer wünscht sonst einiges?" ["Who else wants some?"] I challenged, my voice surprisingly strong. No one stepped forward, much to my relief, so I sat back down at the table in one of the chairs that afforded me a view of the entire taproom.  
  
"Dieses sichere war etwas! Die meisten Massen fangen an, Sachen an mir zu werfen, um mich zu veranlassen zu singen zu stoppen!" [That sure was something! Most crowds start throwing things at me to get me to stop singing!"] the musician on the make-shift stage joked, earning a hearty round of jovial laughter from his audience. "Sollte ich von dem Stadium weggehen?" ["Should I get off the stage?"] he asked, grinning because he already knew the answer. Numerous shouts convinced him to stay and play some more.  
  
I finally laughed, blushing and grinning like an idiot. I felt like my life was in my hands for the first time in weeks; it was a feeling I'd missed sorely. I never did see any indication of a resistance group, despite my constant observation of the other patrons in the bar; after a while I stayed because I was enjoying myself. I sipped at my beer; my tolerance was very low and at a third of a bottle my muscles were loosening up and I was beginning to relax a little. The musician wasn't bad at all, a real surprise for a dive like that. He played all the standard drinking songs of course, but he also played ballads that painted vivid pictures and sang slow, introspective songs about love and life that brought several people in the room to tears. His skill with the guitar was impressive, but it was his voice that captivated me. I'd never heard anything like it before -- every note was perfect and carried effortlessly through the din and noises of the bar to reach my ears all the way across the room; I wouldn't have been surprised if he could convince anyone there to do anything he wanted just through the use of his voice.  
  
A few hours later he retreated from the stage for the evening. He stayed for a few minutes to talk with some of the people in the taproom, but then he headed into a room off the main hall to do whatever it is musicians do after a performance. I was just putting my money on the table and getting ready to leave when he re-emerged and made a bee-line for my table.  
  
"That was quite a show-stopper tonight," he smiled and sat down across from me, uninvited. "What started it?"  
  
"Nothing important," I felt uncomfortable with the question. I supposed he had a right to be curious but that didn't make me want to draw more attention to myself.  
  
"You should be more careful," his voice was soft. "You were very lucky that no one called the police. It's dangerous for you to be out here at all, in fact."  
  
"I appreciate the concern," I smiled at him, "but as you saw, I can take care of myself."  
  
"Can you dodge a bullet?" he asked, all trace of a smile gone from his face. "How long can you hold your breath? Long enough to outlast a gassing?"  
  
A shiver passed up my spine and I eyes him cautiously. "What are you getting at?"  
  
"We are all our brother's keeper," he spoke in Hebrew, his voice barely above a whisper.  
  
My eyes widened in understanding. "You're not marked . . ."  
  
"No," he confirmed. "Had to pay a pretty penny to make that happen." He leaned back in his chair. "Was quite painful, too."  
  
"Why are you telling me this?"  
  
"Why are you here at this time of night?" he dodged my question.  
  
"I was supposed to meet someone here, but they stood me up," I kept my voice and eyes level.  
  
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, his smile just bordering on a smirk. "Too bad. You should get going though -- Heidelmann will be suspicious if you're yawning all day long at work."  
  
"Excuse me?" I felt another chill go up my spine -- how did he know I was attached to him? What exactly did he know about me??  
  
"Don't look so surprised." He grinned, hazel eyes crinkled in amusement. "Surely you know a bard's job is to keep up on all the news and gossip, hmm?" He winked at me and rose from the table. "Be careful heading back, Ms. Shaham. I'd hate to hear bad things about you."  
  
I watched him leave the tavern, his guitar case in his hand as he sauntered down the sidewalk whistling a happy tune. A taxi passed him in the street; he flagged it down and pointed to me, waving me on to the car. I got in and the bard joined me, giving the driver directions to the hotel in which he was staying. We didn't say much because of the presence of the driver, but I sure wanted to ask him how he'd heard of me. I didn't find out though; his stop was only about fifteen minutes away from our point of origin and he didn't give me any way to contact him later. A half hour more passed before I absently handed some Marks to the driver, my mind still occupied by the cryptic words the bard had given me earlier.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Erich and I arrived at the Kohler residence as early as was acceptable according to the invitation and so were involved in much discussion with the other guests as they arrived and began to mingle. I recognized Erich's parents and said hello; Elizabeth smiled and waved at me from across the green lawn before coming over to introduce her escort; Frau Kohler introduced us to the Schmidts, a couple from Straussburg that they knew. I moved among these people with as much ease as I could summon, always waiting for the first encounter with someone who'd not been warned of my markings and anticipating what they might ask. Then I saw someone who made a lump come to my throat -- the un-named guitarist from the bar I'd gone to the weekend before. If he saw me he gave no indication, but continued speaking intimately with Elizabeth in a way that suggested certain things; I saw her escort get a bit red in the cheeks and head for the punch bowl.  
  
Other than the location, this gathering was much like the one at Frau Heidelmann's house had been. Good food, lots of pretty things to look at, and some of the most vapid conversation one would ever want to hear. I'd expected this though and was better prepared for it; I'd even bought a handful of ladies magazines so I had more things to discuss with the other women present. I was quite thankful for this when I found I was the center of attention this time. I'd not realized it, but Frau Kohler's entire reason for holding the luncheon was to meet me. Unlike the previous gathering, though, she acknowledged my Jewishness and asked me questions about it. Nothing rude or derogatory was asked, but I had the distinct impression that one simply did not express a fascination for the customs and language of my people. I told her about the holidays and customs for the holidays; she asked me to say something in Hebrew. I wasn't the only one who noticed that most of the table was growing uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had turned; Erich's hand was squeezing my knee rather hard as I kept answering her questions. That sign was unmistakable: he wanted me to stop talking about my heritage. I smiled and excused myself to use the water closet. As I got up from the table Herr Kohler kept the subject at bay by insisting that when I returned, Herr Williams would regale us with his lyrical skills as he'd promised to do.  
  
I took several deep breaths in the privacy of the small room, running the sink to provide some white noise. Talk about interpersonal politics . . . I knew it wasn't just idle curiosity. She'd wanted to highlight my background; she'd wanted to make things difficult for Erich as he tried to bring me out with him. I wasn't stupid; I knew it was illegal for a German and a Jew to have intimate relations. That law was in place to keep the wholesome German blood untainted by the stain of Hebrew DNA. And as it was, it was already a fine line between legal and illegal behavior between us.  
  
"Miriam! I need to talk with you!"  
  
I sighed and answered the knock at the door. Elizabeth stood there; I ushered her in while noting silently that I was beginning to detect a pattern.  
  
"What in God's name were you thinking??" she hissed, her persona transformed into full-blown Ice Queen.  
  
"What was I supposed to do, not answer her?" I gestured in frustration. "I'm not supposed to be rude--"  
  
"No, not that. I'm talking about your little misadventure last weekend. Are you out of your mind??"  
  
"I didn't just go and pick a fight. No one was coming to help me, and I wasn't about to let him just have his way with me." I folded my arms across my chest and glared at her.  
  
Elizabeth glared right back. "You stupid girl, use the brains the good Lord gave you! At least two people in that bar saw your numbers. You shouldn't have gone without telling someone! You shouldn't have gone alone!"  
  
"Hey, you're the one who sent me the address and told me to tell you how the meeting went." I really wanted to raise my voice above a whisper. Oh, the temptation . . . "If you didn't want me there, why the hell did you tell me to go?"  
  
"I didn't. I told you to contact me first."  
  
I rummaged in my purse and retrieved her note to thrust it under her nose. "It seems we have a miscommunication, then."  
  
She snatched the letter away from me and re-read it, her ice beginning to melt. "I'm sorry, Miriam," she handed me back the note, which I shoved back into the little compartment. "I can see how you misread that. I wasn't clear enough."  
  
I sighed and looked at the wallpaper pattern to my left.  
  
"Ideally you would have been given a codeword to say to Bruce and things would have progressed from there. Unfortunately, you showed up without it or any other information and got put in a difficult spot. I'm very sorry, Miriam."  
  
"So who saw my tattoos?" I sighed.  
  
"Bruce, and Christopher," she jerked a thumb in the general direction of the party. "It's damn good they're on our side."  
  
"Who's Bruce?"  
  
"The one who wants to kill you for breaking his nose."  
  
"Oh." I blinked, eyes wide. "What was he doing sneaking up on me, anyway?"  
  
"He said his original intent was to drag you outside and find out what you were doing there."  
  
"And now?"  
  
"And now he's asking permission to add you to the official list of targets. He's one of our assassins, and his fuse is rather short."  
  
"So I'm right and you are with the resistance movement."  
  
"Was it that hard to figure out?" She smiled. "Chris told me it was quite a sight, though. Where did you learn to fight?"  
  
"Someone back in the States taught me," I whispered, my heart aching at the thought of him. "He didn't want me to be helpless."  
  
"Where is he now?"  
  
"I don't know. Probably Canada by now. I hope so," my eyes got prickly and I took another deep breath. "It doesn't matter now."  
  
"Well," Elizabeth smiled a bit sadly, "I'm heading back out there and you should do the same."  
  
I stayed in the w.c. a moment more, saying a quick prayer for Nightcrawler before going back outside. Christopher, the bard, was set up so that he was the focus of attention for the chairs arranged in a half-circle around him. He was already playing and singing; I slipped quietly into my seat next to Erich. I recognized the tune as one from last week and smiled, forcing myself at first to enjoy his music. When he was finished with the song we clapped and he smiled widely.  
  
"Glad you liked that one. It's one of my newer pieces, so I'm still working out the kinks." He played with the guitar strings, producing some discordant notes for emphasis. I smiled a bit wider. "As some of you may have heard about me, I travel around the Reich for the inspiration for my work. I was in the Americas a few years back and heard a tragic story about a man, a woman, and the judicial system. It's in English, and it's called City of Champions." He strummed the guitar again, head bowed over his work for a moment. The melody was simple and intimate, like an old friend catching you up on the past few years; I waited eagerly for the first lyrics.  
  
"I came west from Halifax, "Chasing jobs in the sun. "I wound up north of Calgary "Driving truck on the Yellow Head run. "And I worked every day for six months, "I really dug my heels in "Then I woke up one morning "And started living again."  
  
I recognized the cities as Canadian; I tried to picture where they all were as he hummed with the melody.  
  
"I hung out on The Avenue, "Friendly faces in every bar. "Shooting pool and shooting the shit "Can take you pretty far. "Then I saw her one night in The Raven. "She made my heart stand still. "To make that girl my baby, "Lord, I swore I'd even kill. "In the City of Champions, "My life fell apart. "In the City of Champions "I lost my heart."  
  
I closed my eyes and began weaving a mental picture to go with the story.  
  
"It only took a few months "And we knew it'd be the rest of our lives. "We pledged our love forever "And got lost in each other's eyes. "And then one night down at the Black Dog "I got jumped from behind -- "Left me on the bathroom floor "More dead than alive. "In the City of Champions "Blood on my shoes, "In the City of Champions, "Someone has to lose."  
  
I frowned in sympathy with the poor guy and kept listening.  
  
"I crawled back to my baby's arms "And we headed for the back door. "Lord, we almost made it out "When he came back for some more. "And I lashed out blind with my right fist "And I caught him square in the jaw. "His head hit a barstool, "And then he hit the floor. "The City of Champions "Took another man. "In the City of Champions "I squeezed my baby's hand."  
  
I bit my tongue; I had the distinct impression that he'd selected this song just for me. I listened to him play the guitar for a few moments, my hand resting in Erich's.  
  
"The last time I saw her "Was from the back seat of a car. "I traded in White Avenue "For a harder set of bars. "And I wish I was back at the Black Dog "Pouring money into the till "Cause I can see my baby now "And I know she's waiting there still. "The City of Champions, "I threw my life away. "The City of Champions said "Someone had to pay. "The City of Champions, "Where I face my fears. "The City of Champions "Gave me twenty-five years."  
  
The strumming of the guitar ended sadly; we all clapped with a bit less enthusiasm than before due to the mood he'd left hanging in the air. Chris never looked directly at me, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that his selection had been meant as both ribbing and warning.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
*"Dreizig-Bahnhoffstrasse" would be equivalent to the American "thirty- Mississippi".  
  
MG: Yeah, she has, hasn't she? Poor girl. :(  
  
Beryl: Glad you liked the tea, and that you're interested in seeing what I do with Elizabeth. And no, I've not figured out what's up with Wagner & the priesthood. Haven't been to read the comics lately due to lack of time and cash. *sigh*  
  
Colleen: As always, glad you're enjoying the story.  
  
Timid: You are not, and that's good. Point One: OC as protagonist and 1st person are crimes? *digs around on desk for the handbook* I'm afraid I missed that somewhere; I'm more of the opinion that those are not literary faux pas so much as devices that not everyone can pull off. I'm glad you don't seem to find a specific fault with my choice to write this story in 1st person starting from Miriam's PoV. It's not something I normally do. I usually favor 3rd person omniscient, and I didn't actually expect to keep writing on this when I first started it. I have up until about a month ago been working at an exceedingly boring job, you see, and developed the habit of scribbling down bits of fiction based on passing ideas that usually go nowhere except the rubbish bin. This one was different for some reason in that the idea kept me amused the next night, and the next again, until I had the first two chapters down on varying scraps of paper with more begging to be written. I posted it here on a lark and started to receive reviews: all positive! Wow. *blush* Point Two: only AoA Kurt story worth reading. Aw, shucks. *blush again* Point Three: Miriam as an alternate X- Woman. *shrug* As I said, this started as an idle idea that kept me amused. Besides, doesn't it make things at least a little more interesting when there's nothing to compare her to? We can look at Kurt Darkholme vs. Kurt Wagner and expect certain things. Both will be strongly moral (even if both are not strongly religious), both will act with honor, both will have the pain of persecution in their past, etc. Miriam, I hope, is more likely to throw you a curve ball. Point Four: intellectual masturbation. Fair warning -- if that sort of thing bothers you, you would probably do better to read another story. While I'm trying to not go off on tangents about some topics, I do find that religion and morals are things I discuss with my friends and I expect that it's something most other people discuss at least a little bit with the people they know. For myself, it's sometimes a serious discussion as it was between Kurt and Miriam; other times it's just to get a rise out of someone, as it was between Dorian and Esther. And, given that some things among the various Kurts remain the same, and given that this particular Kurt has some exceptionally difficult life experiences to deal with (c'mon, tell me confirming what Bishop told them wouldn't have messed with your beliefs and perceptions), I think it's to be expected that the ideas would be discussed.  
  
Zarmina: Thank you. :)  
  
Apteryx: I'm glad you like Miriam and the way I'm writing her. Thanks. :)  
  
ncsgirl: *laughing* AoA Kurt needs the hug more, eh? *grin* You and your Muses can relax, I've got another chapter up now. About damn time, I know . . . *tosses Brian an Icehouse to keep him quiet*  
  
Marithra: Your request is my command. Glad you're enjoying the fluff-free romance. That's good to know. :)  
  
There are some song lyrics in this chapter; the song quoted is "City of Champions" and it's by a band called Captain Tractor. Head to to check it out. 


	13. Miriam

Christopher continued playing for us and for a time he had my undivided attention. But a nagging feeling of unease grew inside me and it didn't take long to figure out why once I acknowledged it. What kind of assassin is so inexperienced he gets his nose broken in a bar fight by someone half his size? And how likely was it that it just slipped Elizabeth's mind to throw in a phrase like "call me immediately" when she penned her note? It was very odd . . .  
  
His set finished, Herr Williams stood and bowed to us while we applauded. I rose to my feet and clapped, ignoring for a moment that my purse fell open from my lap onto the grass. Erich bent down to retrieve my purse then handed it to me; I snapped it shut between my hands, discreetly toeing the lipstick tube further into the grass so it wouldn't catch the sunlight easily. We had to return to work so we bid Herr and Frau Schmidt a pleasant goodbye despite their stiffness towards us. Erich was still engaged in conversation with Herr Kohler when I said goodbye to Elizabeth and her young man.  
  
"I'm terribly sorry, but we must get going," Erich apologized to his friend as he came to collect me.  
  
"It is I who should apologize." Herr Kohler cast a meaningful glance at his wife and the entertainer, who were talking as he put away his guitar. "I simply don't know what's gotten into Margot. It's quite unlike her." He turned to me. "I hope Margot didn't embarrass you, Miriam."  
  
I smiled demurely and cast my eyes downward -- it was the only safe answer. Erich smiled and took my arm, commenting about my perfect manners. I waited until after Herr Kohler walked us to the car, after Erich took a call on his mobile phone from the office, to touch up my make-up and notice my lipstick was missing. Erich silently shooed me away to find it, speaking rapidly into the phone.  
  
"Forget something?" Herr Williams smiled at me as I returned to the back lawn.  
  
"Oh -- yes. I dropped my purse and lost some lipstick, I'm afraid." I knelt in the grass to look for it. As I'd hoped, he came over to help me.  
  
"What does it look like?"  
  
"It's a gold tube with silver bands in the middle." I parted blades of grass, glancing up to see the Kohlers clearing the forgotten dishes from the table. "I, um, I hope you'll tell Bruce how sorry I am next time you see him."  
  
"Pardon?" He glanced up at me, several locks of his straight brown hair obscuring his eyes.  
  
"Bruce, the assassin I hurt last week," I explained softly. "Please send my apologies."  
  
"Who told you he's an assassin?" Herr Williams frowned as he searched the grass.  
  
"Elizabeth," I kept my voice low. "She said he's quite upset."  
  
"I'll bet he is," he looked at me again through his unruly hair. "Be very careful. She's not what she seems." His hand went to his left pocket. "You're a smart girl, Miriam. Keep yourself out of trouble, okay? Abe's a good man; I'd hate to break his heart next time I'm in Alberta."  
  
He held out my lipstick; I closed my trembling hand over it, fingers brushing his palm. "How do you know my brother?" I whispered. "Is he well? What about Hannah?"  
  
"They're okay. They're both fine. But you need to go. Don't trust her, okay?"  
  
I nodded as I got to my feet, replacing the lipstick in my purse. "Thank you so much, Herr Williams," I spoke more loudly as Erich approached. "I never would have found it without your eagle eyes."  
  
"Oh, no problem, ma'am," he nodded at us and smiled. "Have a good trip back into town!"  
  
Erich nodded curtly and led me back to the car. "Find it?"  
  
"Yes," I took out a tissue to clear off the dirt -- he'd actually ground it into the soil before pocketing it. "It's a bit of a mess, though . . ."  
  
"The whole thing was a mess," Erich glowered darkly. "Anything she says about you will make things very difficult."  
  
"Is she influential?"  
  
"Not really, but some of her friends are." He sighed.  
  
"Tch, it'll all work out in the end," I turned to face him, my fingers dancing over his. "Try to forget about it for a while."  
  
He sighed again and smiled, pulling me into a kiss that soon had him forgetting a lot of things.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It was later that night when I looked up at the facade of Erich's house, still awed by the amount of space at his disposal. It had been a while since I'd been here; that he'd brought me home with him could only mean one thing. I swallowed nervously and followed him into the house, where one of his servants took my coat and purse. I thanked him and by chance saw his shirt sleeves shift, revealing a blue star on his wrist. I wasn't sure what, if anything, to say; his only acknowledgement was to dare a glance at my own star, and the numbers, and wince before leaving the foyer. Unsettled even further, I assented to opening a bottle of wine with Erich as we waited for dinner. I strongly suspected this would be easier for me if I were inebriated.  
  
"You look lovely tonight, Miriam," Erich smiled generously and handed me a goblet of red wine. "Absolutely lovely."  
  
"Thank you," I smiled and sipped at the drink.  
  
He opened a cabinet and touched a few buttons on the stereo equipment inside, and I was shocked to hear Frank Sinatra crooning at us. "Would you like to dance?" Erich held out his hand to me and I accepted, allowing him to lead me over the carpets.  
  
"Isn't it illegal to own any American war-time recordings, even music?" I asked quietly as I glided through the room with him.  
  
"Yes, but rules are made to be broken, don't you think?" He kissed my cheek and rubbed the small of my back through my dress. "But you're right, anything Allied is outlawed. That's why my collection is so valuable -- you should see my Swing selections."  
  
"Aren't you worried about being found out?"  
  
. . . And even though I know it's strictly taboo . . .  
  
Erich waggled his eyebrows at the irony of the lyric and I giggled despite myself. "I like to take chances. It makes life so much more interesting, Miriam. It really does." He twirled me around and dipped me down. "It's like the apple in the Garden of Eden," he continued after bringing me back up. "Why was it so tempting? Precisely because it was forbidden."  
  
"So I'm a piece of fruit?" I kept my tone light.  
  
"Absolutely," Erich slid his arms around me so that I was folded next to him, his hands caressing my back. "Nature's candy." He buried his face in my curls. "Do you know why I like Jewish women, Miriam?"  
  
"No," I whispered, wrapping my arms loosely around his neck.  
  
"I like them because they're real women. Your race was built with curves and contours. You're inviting to the touch and pleasing to the eye." He kissed my neck intimately. "And you, Miriam, are like a perfect peach. You have a flawless skin," he took my ear lobe between his lips, tonguing it suggestively. "Firm flesh," he continued as he massaged my lower back, "and I can't wait to taste your nectar."  
  
I shivered at his words and, in an odd moment of detachment, considered how different my reaction would be if the same seduction were done by a different man. It wasn't uncommon for me to think about him late at night and recall in detail the delightful ways he'd touched me, ways that made me all the more hungry for him. I longed to lay with him again, to feel his fur brushing my flesh and his breath on my brow. I sometimes invoked the feel of him on top of me, of his tail moving against me, and imagined how it would feel to complete what had been started that night. I'd never known that sort of touch before; I was not ashamed to admit that I wanted to know more of it, and I wanted to learn from him.  
  
"Are you alright, my dear?" Erich's voice roused me from my reveries and I blinked, surprised to find myself still in his arms.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry . . . " I blinked a few times and stepped away, disappointment as always winning out over hope. "I got lost in thought. . ."  
  
"What about?" He retrieved our goblets of wine from the low table to bring them to the dining room; he was studying me in a peculiar way.  
  
"Nothing important," I sighed and tried to push the memories from my mind. "Nothing at all." I stood there uncomfortably for a long moment while he examined me; I realized how a bug under a microscope must feel.  
  
"How old are you?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Nineteen," I answered nervously. Oh God, now what was going on?  
  
He didn't say anything more, only made a thoughtful noise and gestured for me to follow him through the house. Dinner was strained until he stopped attempting to break through my shell with small talk and arrived at the heart of the matter -- or at least, what he assumed was the heart of the matter. It was close enough either way.  
  
"You don't need to be afraid of tonight," Erich's tone was gentle. "I promise, I won't hurt you. If you let me, I can make things very enjoyable for you."  
  
I felt my cheeks grow hot and looked down at my nearly-untouched plate of food. I couldn't imagine anything he'd do could be as pleasant as what I'd hoped would be with Nightcrawler . . . but that was all in the past now. I'd have to find some way to survive this. And if I could give in and let it be a nice experience, why shouldn't I?  
  
Was it even possible, though?  
  
Much later, after another bottle of wine, after we'd slipped upstairs to his rooms, after he'd slowly undressed me and coaxed my body into willingness, I fulfilled my primary function as Erich's purchased companion. He was true to his word and handled me carefully; but I kept my skin from crawling only by pretending he was someone else.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
This chapter is a bit short, but it's actually a continuation of the last one. That's the problem with my battle between the desire to update and the need to pass my classes -- compromise. *sigh*  
  
Zarmina: You check this every day? *blink* Wow. I'm flattered. But if you find yourself pressed for time, you could always check the box for Author Alerts next time you send in a review. It'll drop you an email next time I update.  
  
Colleen: Oh, you're right to worry about this group. . . *dastardly laughter*  
  
Manga-lunatic: I sincerely hope you CAN wait for the next chapters. It may be a while before I have time to polish and publish again, and I don't want to be responsible for anything negatively newsworthy. :p  
  
MG: I wonder what sort of colorful adjectives you'll have for Erich once you're done reading this bit. "Creep" is really a bit tame.  
  
Marithra: Have to wait for next update to see about Nightcrawler's Spanish adventures. In the meantime, I shall keep on keeping on.  
  
silvergryffin: Your wish is my command. *bows*  
  
I said a while back that I'd list the books I'm basing this story on for Beryl. It took me a bit, but I dug through my long box and dusted off the AoA series. Here's the complete listing of books for anyone who's interested. In addition to the supplementary materials, all 8 X-titles were put on "hold" as it were while these were published. I don't remember exactly which AoA title corresponds to which regular X-title, although some are obvious.  
  
"Legion Quest" -- backstory for Age of Apocalypse Part One: Uncanny X-Men #320 (Jan 95) Part Two: X-Men #40 (Jan 95) Part Three: Uncanny X-Men #321 (Feb 95) Part Four: X-Men #41 (Feb 95)  
  
X-Men Collector's Preview -- Not really part of the story arc, but an interesting read nonetheless. Includes interviews with artists & writers on conception of AoA versions of characters. (Feb 95)  
  
X-Men Alpha -- Introdution to Age of Apocalypse. (Feb 95)  
  
The following titles all ran in four parts from Mar-Jun 95, and comprise the bulk of the story arc.  
  
The Amazing X-Men The Astonishing X-Men Factor X Gambit and the Xternals Generation Next Weapon X X-Calibre X-Man  
  
X-Men Chronicles & X-Universe -- Similar to the X-Men Unlimited series in that these issues showcase stories outside the main story arc but still pertaining to Age of Apocalypse. X-Men Chronicles #1 (Mar 95) X-Men Chronicles #2 (Jun 95) X-Universe #1 (May 95) X-Universe #2 (Jun 95)  
  
X-Men Omega -- Conclusion of the Age of Apocalypse. (Jun 95)  
  
X-Men Prime -- Return to the "regular" X-Universe. (Jul 95) 


	14. Nightcrawler

"Nightcrawler!"  
  
I glanced over my shoulder to see who'd come after me. "Rohleder," I nodded my greeting as she slowed to a trot.  
  
"Hi, I'm glad I caught up to you before you left," she was a bit out of breath. "I want to thank you again for what you did back there. It was very brave of you."  
  
"Es war nichts," I shrugged.  
  
"No, it wasn't!" Her dark eyes were wide; she seemed surprised that I took my ability for granted. "How do you do that?"  
  
"Told you before, that's my secret," I frowned.  
  
"I'm good at keeping secrets," she smiled and took another step forward. "If you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."  
  
"What makes you think your secret is of interest to me?" We were close enough for me to catch her scent on the breeze.  
  
"Because," she stood on tip-toes to sing-song in my ear, "you won't find it without my help . . ."  
  
"Find what?" I tried to sound bored.  
  
"Whatever or whoever it is you're seeking. Without the right contacts, it's hopeless." She smiled impishly. "You're in a hurry. Agree to my price, and you'll buy more than just time in the long run."  
  
"How much?"  
  
"Tell me how you got us off the Ghost," she murmured, "or . . ."  
  
"Or?" I arched an eyebrow.  
  
"Or show me how good of a kisser you are."  
  
I checked my surprise. What the hell kind of game was this? "Or?" I prompted further.  
  
"Or your life becomes very interesting."  
  
"Why are you asking for such a barter?" I softened my voice and slid my fingers into the hair falling against her right cheek.  
  
"You intrigue me. I want to learn more about you."  
  
"Do you, now?" I felt my wicked streak rise within me; my gloved fingers slid along her neck.  
  
"Yes. I'm glad you chose this way. Experience shows passionate fighters to be passionate lovers, and I like to continue testing the hypothesis."  
  
She sighed when I pulled her close to me, shivering when I barely brushed her cheek with mine. "The system?" I kept my lips hovering over hers.  
  
"Kiss first," she insisted. Her lips were soft and warm beneath mine. I deepened the kiss as much to get my pent-up desires out of my system as to distract her; for a moment I was with my Miriam again. My Miriam? Ach, Kurt old man, you're going soft . . . but not too soft. The hand I'd kept along Rohleder's neck clamped down, my fingers pinching nerves in a rather painful manner. "Now," I watched, amused, as she stood on tip-toes again in a vain effort to relieve the pressure, "about these contacts . . ."  
  
"Sicarii," she gasped, "we're called the Sicarii."  
  
"Und?" My fingers twitched, making life very unpleasant for Rohleder.  
  
"Ow!" Her eyes squeezed shut. "Stop . . . please . . ."  
  
"Talk." I loosened my grip.  
  
"We fight the Nazis," she gasped, catching her breath. "We have our fingers in a lot of pies--"  
  
"I'm looking for a Jew." I studied her face. Funny, but I wasn't sure she was that interested in me anymore.  
  
"Toss a stone."  
  
"She's with someone named Heidelmann. Ring any bells?"  
  
"Yeah, funeral bells." Rohleder moved out of my reach but stayed nearby. "As soon as she gets boring or knocked up, she's meat. You've got a mean race against the clock ahead of you." She was rubbing the back of her neck as she sized me up. "You've been an assassin before, haven't you?"  
  
I stared at her.  
  
"We need more people with your skills," she continued. "Help us out, we'll help you out."  
  
"How do I know who is and who isn't?"  
  
Rohleder turned her back to me and lifted her hair off her neck. "Look for this mark." An ornate glyph of some sort was tattooed on her flesh. She turned to face me again. "When you get to Madrid, ask for Gabriel."  
  
"Danke sehr," I smiled, looking her over. "You've been very helpful."  
  
"Good luck." Rohleder's expression was a cross between thoughtful and sly. "Don't forget to look me up next time you're here."  
  
I bowed, smiled, and bamfed away into the night.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
And so it was that I found myself in Madrid, searching the streets for the Sicarii. I was having no success at it and was about to press onward through Spain, the imminent sunrise before me, when I heard barking dogs, shrill whistles, and running feet. I took shelter in the shadows and saw two children turn the corner, their clothes ragged and themselves out of breath.  
  
"Dead end!" one of them wailed in English upon seeing the bricks surrounding him. "Way to go, mate."  
  
"Hey, I said making a break for it was a bad idea," the other boy spat. "But no, you had to run!"  
  
The vicious-sounding barks and snapping of teeth were almost there. I watched the children debate their options. None of them could be pleasant.  
  
"Well, it's been good working with you," the first boy said.  
  
"Yeah, some difference we made, eh?" the second boy glowered, obviously bitter. "Tucked underground like bilge rats, living on trash and stolen water."  
  
"Oh shit!"  
  
The dogs arrived, their masters a handful of steps behind. I smiled grimly and vaulted off the wall, catching the boys by the scruffs of their necks, and teleporting us into the sewers just as the police arrived.  
  
"What the hell??"  
  
"Shut up or they'll hear you," I hissed, letting go of one of them.  
  
"How did you -- whoa!" The second boy tensed when he saw me and drew his dagger with quick reflexes. "What the fuck are you?"  
  
"The person who just saved your life. Show some respect, boy." I calmly leveled a sword at him, my tail easily extending my reach. "Unless, of course," my other sword was at the first boy's neck, "you want your friend to lose his head."  
  
The second boy's nostrils flared but he put the weapon away and kept his hands in the open. "What do you want with us?"  
  
"Information. I need to talk to Gabriel. You will take me to him."  
  
"Sorry, mate," the second boy dared to lie. "We don't know anyone nam--"  
  
"Wrong answer." I pushed the hair off my captive's neck to reveal a tattoo similar to Rohleder's. "You kids are Sicarii. You know Gabriel. You will take me to him."  
  
"Or what, you'll kill us?" the second boy smirked.  
  
I smiled so my fangs caught the dim light. The boy had guts, I had to give him that. "Do you know what vivisection means?"  
  
"Peter . . ." the first boy choked, his Adam's Apple scraping my blade. "We have to. We're bound--"  
  
"Let go of Ricky or we're not going anywhere," Peter's eyes were steel.  
  
Ricky scrambled out of my grasp and the boys led me through the subterranean passageways. As they whispered to one another, thinking I couldn't hear, I suddenly realized how much they resembled the band of rabble Gambit assembled after leaving us. Not that we hadn't been a half- step above rabble ourselves, at times . . . We emerged from the final tunnel to meet what seemed a dead end; the boys obscured the location of the mechanism that swung the wall aside and we walked through to a large room populated by a handful of people.  
  
"Is Gabriel in tonight?" Peter asked the first person he saw. The girl blanched but told him he was, and he led me through another handful of tunnels that passed living quarters of various sizes. Everyone who saw me reacted visibly to my presence. Most shrank away, but a handful silently acknowledged me as though they recognized me. I pretended to not notice this and instead focused my attention on the man who was now before us.  
  
"Thank you Peter, Ricky," the man spoke before they could offer any explanation. "You've done well."  
  
Both kids bowed and left the room, shutting the door behind them; I stayed put and waited for him to ask what I wanted. When he did not, I said, "I'm looking for Gabriel. Am I in the right place?"  
  
"You are where circumstance has led you. How can you be in the wrong place?" he replied calmly.  
  
"I don't have time for games," I struggled to keep from growling. "Where is Gabriel?"  
  
"Why are you seeking Gabriel?"  
  
"I was told by one of yours to talk to him about forming an alliance."  
  
"Hm." The man's expression shifted into a smile. "What is your name, young man?"  
  
"Nightcrawler."  
  
"And what sort of alliance do you wish me to consider with you?"  
  
"I'm tracking a woman in Berlin, und it was suggested that joining with you would expedite this."  
  
"What would we get out of the deal?" Gabriel was looking me over.  
  
"You'd gain the most effective assassin on the planet." My tail swished behind me. Some might call it bragging; I suspected it would be the truth.  
  
"That's a rather bold claim," Gabriel's only sign of interest was the way in which he leaned forward. "But I'll give you the chance to prove it. We've just received word that the Spanish ambassador to Australia is back in town. He's been trying to convince the Australian parliament to sop accepting refugees; obviously, we want to prevent that change in policy from occurring. Liquidate the ambassador for us, and I'll induct you."  
  
"Not a problem," I purred.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When Gabriel told me the ambassador was well-guarded, he'd understated himself. A clear entourage of eight men surrounded him wherever he went. Ah well, it had been a while since I'd had a good workout. I watched him from a patch of shadow across the street from the hotel as his car pulled away, leaving the ambassador and his men to head inside. Must have been a hard day at the office; the mark was heading straight for the bar. I waited ten minutes before straightening up and heading inside.  
  
Normally I hate the rain, but it gave me the perfect disguise that night. The long raincoat and slouching hat were not out of place here; by keeping my tail wrapped around my waist, I looked like any other guest just coming in from the rain. I stood against a pillar in the lobby, reading the newspaper and facing the large mirror behind the concierge counters that reflected the bar behind me.  
  
"Is there anything I can get for you, sir?" a bellhop stopped as he passed by.  
  
"Nein, danke." I didn't look up from the article on the state of the country's economy.  
  
"Are you sure? A sparkling water, perhaps, or one of our fine cigars?" he persisted.  
  
"I'm fine, just waiting for my wife. You know how women are," I sounded hurried and annoyed.  
  
"Yes, sir. If you change your mind, our concierge will be more than happy to attend to you."  
  
I nodded curtly and, once the kid was gone again, looked back up at the reflection of the dead man walking. Ah, Herr Botschafter [Mister Ambassador] liked the ladies. He and the pretty young thing who'd come to sit next to him were getting up now. They'd no doubt retire to the man's room . . . I shook my head briefly -- my sentimentality would likely cost me my life someday, but I still disliked having to take down innocents.  
  
The ambassador, the young woman, and half the ambassador's bodyguards went into one of the elevators on the left-hand bank while the rest of his men went into the elevator next to that one. Before the doors shut I wedged myself inside, pretending to be an oblivious guest.  
  
"Which floor?" one of the men asked.  
  
"Zweizig, danke," I answered. I figured they'd be dead by the 18th floor. As soon as the man hit the button and turned his key for an express ride, thus ensuring we wouldn't be interrupted, I did my parents proud. My fist landed in one man's face; I jumped and took down two more with kicks to the head. The fourth man's windpipe was crushed shut by my tail, ensuring he'd not alert the others. I continued to strangle him while I gave the first guard another fist to the face.  
  
The elevator stopped at 20 as instructed. I took the express key and used it on another elevator in the lobby to continue on to the top floor and Herr Botschafter's penthouse suite. As for my fresh kills . . . well, no one's sensibilities would be offended from the sight of blood. My elevator let me off at the desired destination, or it would have if I'd not been clinging to the ceiling of the car. It was those instincts again, and they were useful as always.  
  
"Where are they?" one of the remaining bodyguards asked as the doors opened. I grinned when another of them took the bait I'd left by stepping into the elevator to get the key ring from off the floor. Sure, they'd looked inside, but they'd not looked up. Nobody ever looks up . . . I dropped down, feet catching the one particularly stupid guard in the chin. He fell backward into the penthouse foyer; his companions opened fire while shouting instructions at the ambassador and his guest. I dodged the bullets with relative ease but kept moving. Small places make for painful ricochets, and I didn't want one. I teleported, grabbed one man as he pulled his trigger, and popped us back out so that he shot another guard in the head. Then I drew my swords, slitting one man's throat from my perch atop the gunman's shoulders. My tail wrapped around his throat and I hit the ground, yanking him down with me. The guard who'd gone into the elevator was on his feet now; I easily ran him through as I let go of the other man, his neck snapped from the sudden change in direction.  
  
Eight down, two to go.  
  
The ambassador and the girl were locked tight behind the titanium- reinforced doors of the bedroom. Those doors would stand against many kinds of abuse, but presented no barrier to those who can teleport. The girl was sobbing in fear when she saw me; the mark was frantically explaining the situation to the police while aiming a gun at me. I let him squeeze off a round before bamfing over, grabbing his head, and separating it from his body. The spent round impotently hit the other wall; the girl screamed hysterically, begging me to let her go.  
  
"Es tut mir sehr leid, Fraulein," ["I am very sorry, Miss"] I told her truthfully before I twisted her head sharply, killing her instantly and, Gott willing, painlessly. I hung up the phone, wiped off my swords, and began rummaging in the closet.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"That's certainly . . . unique." Gabriel dropped the ambassador's head back into the piece of luggage I'd taken from the hotel. "It's not a clean but, even though you carry swords. Did you do this with your bare hands?"  
  
"More or less," I shrugged. "I've upheld my end of the bargain -- your enemy is dead."  
  
"Yes, and I shall honor our end." Gabriel rose from his chair and spoke with someone behind the curtain that sectioned off this room from the rest of the underground compound beyond. I suspected that few people got to see what was behind the curtain.  
  
"Hello, Nightcrawler," some of what was beyond the curtain emerged to see me.  
  
"Fraulein," I bowed politely at the woman accompanying Gabriel, my mental gears spinning. I recognized her -- she'd smiled at me when I passed her days earlier with Peter and Ricky.  
  
"Magdalina will see to your initiation and orientation," Gabriel explained. "While your orders will come directly from myself or another Cabal leader, Magdalina will be your main resource as an agent for the Sicarii."  
  
"I'm on my way to Berlin," I reminded him.  
  
"And I shall travel with you," Magdalina stepped forward, her feet whispering on the stones. "I am your priestess, and yours alone. I am to accompany you in your travels. I will be transferred to the same Cabals as you."  
  
"I don't need a priestess," I looked past her to Gabriel. "I have no use for religion."  
  
"You needn't be so defensive," Gabriel smiled. "No one will try to convert you to anything."  
  
"We each must follow the dictates of our hearts," Magdalina took another step towards me. "Your calling has brought you here to help us defeat the Nazis. My calling is to keep you human while you do it."  
  
"Whatever," I gave in. If putting up with the clergy would get me to Miriam . . . "When do we get down to business?"  
  
"Later tonight, after you've had time to prepare. I'll show you to your room." Magdalina smiled again and walked past me into the public hallway. Gabriel nodded for me to follow, so I did.  
  
My room was small and sparsely furnished. I had a bed, nightstand, and dresser taking up most of the room, with a smaller bed in the opposite corner. A bathroom was accessible from this room and no other. Magdalina explained that I would have such accommodations at my home Cabal as a perk to the job.  
  
"It's not much, it's not fancy, but it's yours." She opened one of the dresser drawers and pulled out a fresh change of clothes. "Go get cleaned up, then we'll get some food into you and get this over with."  
  
I emerged from the shower fifteen minutes later to find her sitting patiently on the smaller bed in the corner, eyes closed and humming softly. I looked her over as I dressed. Her skin was a dark olive tone and her straight black hair hung over her left shoulder. Her slender hands were resting, loosely curled, on her knees as she did whatever she was doing.  
  
"Are you ready for dinner, Nightcrawler?" she asked, eyes still closed. I answered in the affirmative and followed her throughout the compound to gain a meager plate of some unidentifiable food that was heavily spiced. As we ate I ignored the stares and whispers around us and listened to her explain exactly what I was about to commit my life to. The Sicarii were primarily an organized band of underground terrorists operating throughout Europe in an effort to thwart the Reich and bring it down. While all sorts of illegal activity was utilized as a means to their end, they were best known for the murders committed over the years. Respectable German citizens the continent over feared them because they struck in the midst of large crowds, often in broad daylight, and were seldom caught. The name, it turns out, came from a historical band of Jewish zealots who were out to overthrow Roman occupation in Jerusalem and the surrounding area sometime around the B.C./A.D. change-over.  
  
"So, you're a group of religious fundamentalists?" I gritted my teeth and debated on backing out.  
  
"Some of us are certainly very devout, but to several paths. Some are of the Hebrew faith, others of us follow the Carpenter. I myself am Moorish and place my faith in the lessons of the Prophet." Magdalina finished the contents of her plate. "As Gabriel said, no one will try to convert you to anything. That is not our intent. We are all here for a common purpose, which is to take down what we perceive as a great Evil in our midst: the Nazi regime." She placed her fork along the edge of her plate and studied me with calm eyes. "If you are uncomfortable with this, though, you should not join us. This is for life, and turncoats are dealt with in the same manner as any other enemy. Neither you nor the woman you seek would be safe from the rest of us if you were to betray us."  
  
"At least you're honest about that." I smirked and looked around. Peter watched me from a seat along one of the walls of the common room we were gathered into; I watched him back.  
  
"I do hope you can see past the religious connotations and choose to join us," Magdalina spoke as I engaged in the staring match.  
  
"Und why is that?" My eyes bored into Peter's. Damn, this kid was persistent. So was I, though. I wasn't about to lose a staring match to a twelve-year-old.  
  
"You understand the value of life and the workings of power very well. To have your gifts and choose to defy En Sabah Nur's rule speaks highly of your moral character and inner strength."  
  
Okay, some things were more important than this petty battle of wills. My head spun around and I felt my eyes grow wide at her words. "What did you say?"  
  
"Oh, I just meant that you are a good man--"  
  
"Whose rule?" my voice was a whispered hiss. It was almost as though saying Apocalypse's true name would summon him to the room.  
  
"You heard me," Magdalina replied softly, looking down at the grain of the wood in the table. "You are known to the clergy of the Sicarii. No one will harass you; it will not be permitted. We know we owe our existence in part to you, and we respect that."  
  
I drew my breath slowly, my insides invaded by a creeping sense of cold. "How is it that I am known to you? Who told you?"  
  
"Those who watch told the Cabals that you'd manifested here from an other- where. Gabriel called the rest of us together and said that we would, as a unified group, surely meet with you someday and that we should be prepared. The priests and priestesses of the other Cabals were similarly briefed about you, but only those of our station." Magdalina's eyes lifted from the table to look at me full in the face. "If you choose to part ways tonight, your secrets are safe with us. Of this you have our sacred word."  
  
I took a few hours to think things through, but in the end I figured this was the only path that sat well with me. My conscience would bother me too much if I sat back and did nothing to stop the Nazis, even after I accomplished my rescue of Miriam. There had to be something after that, and I suspected this would be right up Miriam's alley given what she'd been involved in when we first met. I told Magdalina my decision and was instructed to wait for her in the large common room that served as the group hang-out. Word of my decision spread amongst the Sicarii rapidly and many of them packed into the room to watch me get my tattoo. I held my hair off my neck while Magdelina shaved the fur away, then swabbed the area with alcohol.  
  
"Oh, your skin is blue, too," she commented conversationally as she worked.  
  
"You seem surprised."  
  
"I've just never seen anyone blue before."  
  
"It's not very common," I agreed, shivering as the alcohol evaporated. "The trait is extremely rare, and recessive at that."  
  
"What exactly causes it?" She warned me that she was about to start with the needles.  
  
"Missing enzyme."* I winced as the needles pierced my skin. "I'm sure you'll see for yourself soon enough, but I bleed more brown than red." I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing as more needles injected the black ink to form the required pattern.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
muggsy: Glad you're enjoying it!  
  
velveteen*rose: Yes, Kurt must save the day . . . but he's only human, after all . . .  
  
MG: Heheheheh . . . Choice words, indeed. ;) Nightie's on his way. But that's all I'm giving away at the moment . . .  
  
Colleen: Glad you liked the lipstick bit. You're so specific with what in my writing catches my fancy and I appreciate that -- lets me know specifically what I'm doing right!  
  
TheDarkIsRising: Cool handle. *thumbs up* And way to grab my attention with your review. I burst out laughing when I read it because I could just picture your indignation . . . *grin* And I forgive you your being "so lazy I never review." I've been guilty of that myself. *hangs head in shame* But thanks for fishing Kurt out of the Atlantic for me. *tosses Kurt a towel**calls into the wings* You're on in five!  
  
Marithra: Thanks for pulling for me. Still got all A's! :) As for how the last update related -- One reviewer vocalized a desire to get the full listing of the Age of Apocalypse story arc. I know not everyone who's a Kurt fan reads the comics, or did so eight years ago. Therefore, I figured Beryl probably wouldn't be the only one who'd gain a better understanding for this Nightcrawler if they read his back story. It was a more round- about relation to the current story, you see . . .  
  
ncsgirl: *picks a cookie from the offered jar* Yum! :p Geez, you guys are pushy! All this "Kurt needs to rescue Miriam" sentiment! *grins evilly**nibbles cookie*  
  
Zarmina: Yah, writer's block sucks. Especially when I know what I want to do, say, five scenes up, but can't quite work out how to get there smoothly. I suppose every writer gets that, though.  
  
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*Yes, there are really blue people!! Links:  
  
-- Includes pictures 


	15. Nightcrawler

I was given my assignment the next morning: I was to be security to an envoy of refugees heading to Siberia, although I would be replaced when we reached Berlin. I was given a few Marks and access to a map of the route to Germany. We'd be on foot for the most part but it couldn't be helped . . . I hoped Miriam could hold out until I got there.  
  
Magdalena, as my personal tagalong, accompanied me when I met with the rest of the guard. I sighed inwardly when I saw Peter; he smirked and mock- saluted me before lighting a cigarette.  
  
"Good, now that everyone is here, let's get the introductions out of the way." The man was around my age with dark hair, skin, and eyes. "Nightcrawler, I presume?"  
  
"Ja. Und you are . . . ?"  
  
"Suleiman." He had an air of leadership -- he was used to being obeyed. I hoped he didn't let that get to his head because it would be a long journey for us all if I had to answer to an asshole. "You've already met Pete and Rick. This is Ramon," he indicated the smiling Spaniard who looked to be in his thirties, "Marcos," Suleiman gestured to another man who had green eyes and black hair, "and Suzanne." He stepped aside so I could see the pale slip of a girl who sat silently on a crate, staring at me. She kept this up for what felt like a long time and I was surprised to find that the waifish thing could unnerve me like that. It was as though she were looking into me for something.  
  
"Is everything okay, Suz?" Magdalena's voice cut in gently.  
  
"She chose wisely," Suzanne finally turned her gaze to the woman at my side, searching her now. "She always does."  
  
Magdalena blushed and looked away from Suzanne. Rather than leave well enough alone, I asked who "she" was.  
  
"The Metatron," Suzanne's liquid eyes found mine again.  
  
Before I could ask what a metatron was, Suleiman cut in and told us to gear up and be ready to leave at sundown. Magdalena whispered that she'd explain later as she took me to arrange our supplies.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Our group was small for the number of Sicarii accompanying them. I thought so, at least. There were six of them: a family of four that included two small children and a young couple already on their way from Portugal. As expected, they all kept their distance from me at the first of it and I was fine with that. I needed some time to think about what I'd gotten myself into.  
  
We traveled in much the same manner as the trek through America had been in that we slept days and moved nights. We were heading north to start, stopping our first morning in Segovia at the safe house there. Then it was on to Valladolid, which took a few days precisely because the terrain was open plains. As we walked we took turns helping to occupy the children -- most of us did, anyway. Esteban, their father, made it clear that they were not to come near me even though he never said as much. I saw it in the familiar way in which they were distracted to look at something else when facing me, or shooed away when they came too close. I debated silently which parent was annoying me more: Esteban with his open prejudice, or his wife Reina with her hasty glances and nervous smiles.  
  
The newlyweds from Portugal, Tiago and Lucinda, were more receptive to me for some reason. When I asked why they were taking the time to talk with me they matter-of-factly said that they'd gotten to know Marcos and Ramon when they were coming across to Spain and besides, Ramon had seemed a bit too friendly with Lucinda for both their tastes. I laughed when I heard that, which earned a surprised glance from Magdalena -- she'd already learned that it took a lot to get me to crack a smile most of the time.  
  
"Why are you heading for Siberia?" I plucked a piece of tall grass as I walked through the field.  
  
"Portuguese bounty hunters don't like snow, or so we hear," Lucinda smiled sadly, her words translated by Magdalena.  
  
"How did you earn that honor?" I asked.  
  
"We were forging papers for people," Tiago explained, rubbing his wife's arm in a comforting gesture. "One of our customers was detained and convinced to admit that the papers were fakes. The Gestapo got involved and traced them back to our book shop."  
  
I nodded, "Ja, I understand it's a very dangerous business." My sister was hanged running papers . . . I shook my head to clear the remembered words away.  
  
Several minutes of quiet settled over us, then Lucinda started a new topic. "I understand that you're parting from us in Berlin. Is this true?"  
  
"Ja," I nodded, glancing behind us out of habit -- I was the rear guard that night. "I have business there that is urgent."  
  
"Will you be there long?" she inquired.  
  
"I hope not."  
  
"Unpleasant business?"  
  
"Could be." I stopped suddenly, holding up my hand for them to be quiet. Then I teleported to the front of the line. "Suleiman," I arrived at his side, "we've got company coming."  
  
"How many?" he handed Armando, the younger child, back to his mother. Reina cast a worried glance at her husband when I said it sounded like a group of about five.  
  
Suleiman quickly gestured to Peter, Ricky, and Suzanne to have our charges get low in the grass while Marcos crept with me to the back again. We watched silently, the only sounds for a moment the sound of grass rustling in the breeze. Then I heard it again, the snatches of conversation exchanged between male voices.  
  
"What are they saying?" I whispered to Marcos.  
  
"Nothing of concern to us yet," he answered. "Something about camping . . . " He chuckled a moment later. "The one's brother is with a girl -- they're going to cause trouble for them. They haven't seen us, I don't think."  
  
"Best to keep it that way," I whispered back, waiting until the boys were another hundred meters away to begin moving. Suleiman ordered us to stay put and keep silent for a half hour before moving on again.  
  
I heard Esteban ask Ramon something when the all-clear was given. Ramon answered back in Spanish or Portuguese; I couldn't tell which. Magdalena sighed softly and made an unpleasant face as the conversation continued.  
  
"He wants to know how much further it is to the next safe house, and Ramon said about thirty kilometers. He's not happy."  
  
"He doesn't have much choice in the matter though, does he?" I smirked.  
  
"No," she shook her head and began translating for me as the conversation went along.  
  
"No, we'll have to ford it ourselves," Ramon's voice held a note of professional patience.  
  
"That's outrageous!" Esteban's face was probably red with anger by now. "We won't make the house by morning if we have to swim across."  
  
"Tell that idiot we won't have to swim," I sighed. Magdalena just looked at me for a minute. "Tell him," I repeated.  
  
She translated my words into Spanish, which started a spectacularly heated argument that had my shadenfreude [appx. "misery-joy" -- enjoying the misfortunes of others] wishing for a translation dictionary. "Well?" I asked Magdalena as I watched the man's retreating form.  
  
"He doesn't like the idea," she looked down as she over-simplified the argument, "but Marcos thinks it's a great idea if you're able to take all of us across."  
  
"What did they really say?" I stopped her from walking away.  
  
"It's not worth repeating, really," her eyes were sad.  
  
I watched her being uncomfortable around me for about thirty seconds before I said, "I know what 'Diablo' means, Magdalena. I've heard it enough times in enough languages to understand."  
  
"I'm sorry," she said softly, looking away.  
  
"What else did he say?"  
  
"He . . . doesn't want you to carry Armando and Emiliana across. He somehow thinks you'll steal their souls during the trip."  
  
"That's a new one," I scratched the back of my ear with my tail. "Pft, zur Hölle mit ihm ["to hell with him"]. He can swim it if he wants to." I shrugged and walked away.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Bugger me!" Peter eyed the Duero skeptically as he lit yet another cigarette. "You sure you can get us across that, fish bait?"  
  
"I'll be sure to drop you on the way over," I growled. Snot-nosed punk.  
  
"Pete's got a point," Suleiman's bass rumbled. "The rains have swollen the river considerably. I can't even see the other shore from here."  
  
"It's only about a half-mile," I peered across, satisfied to see a surprised look flit across Peter's face. "It won't be a problem for me. But we'll have to be quick about it. We're upwind from the ferry -- if there are any guards they'll either hear or smell us going across."  
  
"And once we're all across it's still another fifteen kilometers to the stop," Marcos pointed out. "We'll be cutting it close."  
  
"Best get started, then." Suleiman's voice was crisp. "Nightcrawler?"  
  
I nodded and turned to address the group. "Belongings divided evenly among the adults, bitte. Esteban, Reina, I'll take you across first so you can receive Armando und Emiliana next. Lucinda und Tiago after them, then our own people." I extended my hand to Reina, who reached for me hesitantly before having her hand snatched away by Esteban.  
  
"We'll find our own way across," he glared at me while Magdalena translated.  
  
"You're a fool. With the waters so high they are also likely to be very deep, with a swift current. You will be putting your children at risk," I answered.  
  
"We can pay for the ferry," he countered.  
  
I looked downriver to the twinkling lights. "Und what if there are Polizei there? They look for such as us, und I'm an advantage they would never expect. This is much safer."  
  
"Bloody moronic git," Peter mumbled under his breath through the cigarette smoke. No one else seemed to hear him.  
  
"They are there, waiting," Suzanne's voice lilted towards us. "To try the ferry would be folly."  
  
"You are sinful, both of you!" Esteban's voice rose as he rounded on Suleiman. "This is not the protection we made a 'donation' for, Moor! A demon and a witch, it's disgraceful!"  
  
Tiago spoke before Suleiman could answer, "While you are spouting off your ignorant prejudices, the rest of us are waiting for a safe passage. If you feel that strongly about it, go, and may your God protect you."  
  
"I agree with Tiago," Suleiman's voice was calm. "You paid for safe passage, but you do not get the choice of which operatives take you to freedom. You and your family are free to leave -- but of course, you understand that our responsibility to you is forfeit at that point."  
  
They left, with more insults flung at us that Magdalena didn't bother translating. I sighed and offered my hand to Lucinda, who clasped her fingers around my palm without hesitation. "How does this work?" she asked softly.  
  
"Just like that," I almost smiled a half a second later and let go of her hand.  
  
"Thank you, Nightcrawler," she smiled and watched me go back across for Tiago.  
  
I took Suzanne and Magdalena across next, followed by Peter and Ricky. Suleiman insisted on waiting to go last, so Ramon and Marcos were next. As I reached the shore once again I heard the sounds of Esteban and Reina's interception -- shouts, screams, guns.  
  
"What is it?" Suleiman couldn't hear it from where we were, so I told him.  
  
"They have made their decision," he said with resignation, "and we have more people to escort."  
  
I bamfed back across the Duero with him and announced that I was heading over there. When he ordered me to stay with the rest of the group, I asked him if he could live with those children dying because their father had been a bigot. He said nothing, and I pushed myself downriver in two jumps.  
  
"Mein Gott," I whispered as I arrived. Reina lay on the ground, blood leaking from her mouth, her daughter whimpering under her -- she'd used herself as a shield for Emiliana. Esteban was dead also, and I'd arrived in time to see them murder Armando. As he fell to the dirt I rushed over, snatched the girl from her shelter, and teleported away as a bullet raced past my ear.  
  
The whole thing had taken less than five minutes. As I arrived back to the group, Ramon asked what had happened.  
  
"Suzanne was right," I tried to set Emiliana down, but she clung to me desperately and wouldn't let go.  
  
"The others?"  
  
"Tot ["dead"]." I tried to pry the girl off me again.  
  
"No me deje por favor, ángel," she sobbed into my neck, where she'd firmly buried her face.  
  
"What did she say?" I asked Magdalena.  
  
She came over and gently asked in Spanish for the girl to repeat herself. "She said, 'Please don't leave me, angel'."  
  
"We have to go," Suleiman said quietly, turning to take point again. As the others picked up their things, I had Magdalena tell Emiliana that I was going to put her down just long enough to put on my rucksack. She reluctantly agreed on the condition that I'd carry her the rest of the way. And despite my awkwardness with children, especially traumatized, crying ones, I did just that.  
  
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Bet y'all thought I dropped off the planet, huh? It sucks when life gets in the way . . . But I'm on a roll tonight. I'll have another chapter up later this weekend. And of course, Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Joyous Yule, Blessed Kwanzaa . . . did I miss anyone??  
  
Colleen: AoA Nightcrawler can be a right bastard when he wants to be. Stay tuned.  
  
Zarmina: Yeah, it is getting interesting, and will continue to become more so as it goes along. Glad you're enjoying it.  
  
Marithra: Oh, hey now! No reason to hate me! I'm one of those annoying people who can seem to get good grades by doing very little, or at least that's how it was in high school. Takes some effort, now. I'm glad you like the religious bits I'm putting in; I'm trying to not put in too much, though. Don't want to scare Kurt off and make TheDarkIsRising go back out to the ocean! *grin*  
  
MG: Another fan of the ruthless bastard Kurt. Muahahahahahahaaaaa. . . I shall not disappoint.  
  
TheDarkIsRising: "Can't Miriam just go kill Erich?" But where's the fun in that?!? Never mind, I'll answer that for you in the next chapter with Miriam. Doing a parody Erich-is-dead chapter would be too much like a cheesy soap opera for my tastes, but a Jewish slave girl can daydream, can't she? Ooh, you've sparked my muse . . . Yes, I've got the direction for the next Miriam chapter, and you officially get credit for inspiration. I take it you liked the links in the last chapter, yes?  
  
Beaubier: "Bad. Ass." Yup, that about sums it up! *grin* 


	16. Nightcrawler

"What?" I asked into the thin air. I was polishing my swords while I took my watch. After the incident at the ferry, Suleiman decided it was best to go a bit out of our way and bypass the upcoming safe house.  
  
"Erm," he cleared his throat. "I'm not bothering you, Mister Nightcrawler?"  
  
"I don't have rank on you, Ricky. Or is it Rick?" I gestured for him to step forward.  
  
"Rick's fine." He stood next to me and watched me tend to my weapons. "I owe you for what happened in Madrid."  
  
I looked over at Rick. "We're even. You took me to Gabriel, after all."  
  
"Under coercion. I still owe you," he insisted.  
  
"Does your friend agree on that?" I already had a good guess on it.  
  
"He won't admit it." Rick shrugged.  
  
"So the answer is No." I smiled wryly. "It's okay. Not like you asked, nicht wahr?"  
  
"Ah, no, I don't suppose so." He shifted his weight between feet before talking again. "I guess I'll be shufflin' off to bed now. Just wanted t'let you know that."  
  
I nodded as he walked away, "Just don't do anything stupid."  
  
"I don' plan on it."  
  
I sighed and looked through the grass and across the plain. No one else was in sight, which was good. I was just starting to relax a bit when Magdalena came to my corner of the camp to talk.  
  
"She's finally asleep, huh?"  
  
"Finally," I nodded. "I was starting to think I had a new permanent growth."  
  
"You don't like kids?"  
  
"They're too much hassle for a bachelor assassin."  
  
"Too bad. I think she's rather taken with you."  
  
"Erstauntlich ["marvelous"]."  
  
"This is so beautiful," she sighed softly as she looked across the landscape. "I've never seen this before."  
  
I nodded my agreement on both points but said nothing.  
  
"Have you ever been across Europe before?" she asked.  
  
"If you could call it that. Besides, I thought you already knew that." Dammit, I could already feel my muscles tensing. So much for a nice, relaxing watch.  
  
"I wasn't told details, and I can't talk to the Metatron," she shrugged apologetically. "Now, Suzanne on the other hand--"  
  
"Yeah, what was that earlier?" I interrupted.  
  
"Who, the Metatron? She is the voice of God and the guardian of the Source."  
  
I smiled patiently, waiting for her to continue. She took the hint.  
  
"Few people have ever seen Metatron, and fewer still have understanding of what the Source is really like. But they are understood to be the voice of God, and God itself, among the Sicarii priesthood."  
  
"What God wants, God gets, God help us all," I muttered. Zealots . . .  
  
"What?" she pretended she hadn't heard me.  
  
"Nothing," I lied. "This Suzanne girl, she can talk to the Source?"  
  
"Something like that," she answered slowly. "I'm not really sure. She has a gift for clairvoyance and that makes her more receptive to working with Metatron. She is in training for the inner circle, the ones who study the Source."  
  
"And you aren't."  
  
"No, and I'm glad." Magdalena's voice was worried. "There will be more loss before we reach Berlin, according to Suz. Something about debts repaid, and debts taken on."  
  
"Cryptic and worthless," I dismissed the strange girl's prophecy.  
  
"I hope you're right," she sighed and got up to go back to camp.  
  
A few hours later I was relieved by Marcos. As I walked to my bedroll and the small bundle sleeping there I passed the Bilge Rats, Peter and Rick. My eyes lingered on Rick's sleeping form as the somber words Magdalena spoke earlier came back to me.  
  
"Nein," I shook my head and bedded down. It was absolutely ridiculous; it meant nothing.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
We continued on through Spain, passing through Valladolid and then North- East to Burgos and past the Ebra River, where we began to navigate through the mountains. Vitoria and Pamplona were thankfully without major incident, and then we began the arduous task of crossing the Pyrenees and the Spanish/French border. We came out near Bayonne and rested in the safe house there for two days. Then it was on the road again, where we picked up some more refugees in Bordeaux. Aude and Eulalie were sisters whose parents had been executed as suspected Sicarii sympathizers, while Remi was an escapee from the area work camp. Together we made our way across the country, and despite my interest in seeing how things were under a different dictator's rule, it all began to blur together after a while. Limoges, Bourges, Orleans, even Paris couldn't really hold my interest. Being there began to annoy me, actually, especially when the priesthood wanted to meet me. I hate the clergy to begin with; and when they took that much interest I instinctively became twitchy. The high point of it all, if you could call it that, was when Emiliana was finally taken off my hands.  
  
Ever since the night outside of Segovia, she'd never strayed from my side for more than five minutes -- and that was usually for the necessities of hygiene. She ate with me. She threw impressive tantrums if asked to move her sleeping bag away from mine or, when we were indoors, to sleep in another room. For the first few days she was very quiet and I thought I had at least that for a reprieve, but it didn't last. She began to talk to me endlessly through Magdalena or anyone else nearby who knew both our languages. And Mein Gott, did that girl have a lot of questions . . . She overheard Magda and Suz talking about where I'd come from, and why did they think I was from another planet? Why do my eyes glow? Does everything look yellow to me? Am I fuzzy on the inside, too?  
  
But the best one, the one that got the attention of the Sicarii priesthood, was when she asked why the Devil is so beautiful but God's angels are not. It didn't matter that I kept telling her I wasn't an angel or a demon or anything else, she insisted I was an angel because I could do magic. An aging priestess named Yvette took the time to talk with Emiliana about that and anything else the girl wanted to discuss, and told her that she was a very special girl and they would like to be her friends.  
  
"But the angel will stay with us, won't he?" she'd asked hopefully, her little face falling when they told her that I had to keep going while she stayed there. In the end I buckled and told her that the next time I was in Paris, I'd come and see her. Thus placated, she gave me one last big hug and a kiss on my cheek before she sniffled and watched me leave with the rest of the party.  
  
"You miss her, admit it," Magdalena smiled at me after we were done passing through Lille and approaching the Belgium border.  
  
"Like a hole in the head," I answered tartly.  
  
Peter and Rick were passing us and Peter threw out, "Ah, good, so yer not a paedophile, then."  
  
"Don't be an asshole," Rick sighed and rolled his eyes.  
  
"Wot?" He grinned at me. "Ya gotta wonder, wot with the gel always sleepin' next t'im an' all."  
  
"Ugh," Magda shook her head and moved on, "you guys. . ."  
  
"I prefer women," I retorted softly after she was out of earshot. "Just ask your mother."  
  
"You son of a--"  
  
He was on the ground before he could finish drawing his daggers, gasping for air from under my fingers. "A word to the wise, boy: don't shoot off your mouth unless you can save your own ass."  
  
"What's going on here?" Suleiman's voice held an ominous note of warning, his eyes smoldering.  
  
"Nightcrawler's just teaching us some techniques," Rick explained with a straight face. "Everything's fine."  
  
Suleiman's eyes narrowed but he said nothing more before he moved on to speak with the refugees about something. I let Peter up, his daggers held aloft by my tail.  
  
"Ruddy psychotic fookin' freak . . ." he muttered, rubbing his neck.  
  
I smirked at him while Rick told him to not provoke me further. "You'd do well to listen to your friend." I tossed his daggers back to him, hiding that I was impressed that he caught them deftly. He had potential . . .  
  
"C'mon, mate, let's go," Rick dragged Peter along behind him.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It took us just over three weeks to pass through Belgium. We entered near Tournai and our route after that took us past Ath, Soignies, and Halle before we stopped to visit the Cabal in Brussels. We stayed long enough to replenish our stores of supplies and receive quick medical check-ups from the clergy. Everyone was fine other than the two new arrivals, Celeste and Adeline. They'd been street urchins competing with the Sicarii, until they were found out and struck a bargain to barter work for passage to Russia. The eldest of the two was in her mid-teens and her friend was in her early teens; and despite their raggedy appearance they earned the attention of the two boys who'd been with us since Spain. Actually, both Peter and Rick seemed interested in Adeline but when it became clear somewhere around Tongereu that she was only interested in Rick, Peter shifted his attentions to Celeste. It wasn't until Tiago said something at dinner one afternoon that I realized the kids weren't spending as much time together as they normally did -- in fact, they seemed to be staying away from one another.  
  
"I've been preoccupied with other things," I shrugged and took another bite of beef jerky. I commented to myself absently that if I never had to eat another piece of the stuff again in my life, that was fine.  
  
"We've noticed. It's your errand, isn't it?" Lucinda offered me a piece of her apple after sharing with her other half.  
  
"Ja," I admitted. I'd been trying to not think about how long it was taking to get to Berlin. So far we'd been on the road for almost three months. Depending on how quickly we continued on, we might not get to Berlin for another month. Miriam alone for four months with someone who disposes of--  
  
I wasn't going to think about it. I'd go crazy if I did.  
  
"Nightcrawler?" Lucinda was leaning over to look in my face, her eyes wide in concern. "What's wrong?"  
  
"This is taking too long." I'd lost my appetite and was now so tense with worry that I feared the loss of appetite might become retroactive. "I'm sorry, but I need to be alone right now."  
  
I got up and left quickly, my tail twitching behind me as I moved. In talking throughout the journey with the other members of the Sicarii I'd asked if any of them had heard of Miriam Shaham, or caught any gossip about what Erich Heidelmann was up to lately. I'd been told that as tempting a target as Heidelmann was, they didn't pay attention to his dolls because they were usually stupid by design. No one knew anything about her until I went to Suzanne in desperation, willing to overcome my unease around her to ask her to use her gifts.  
  
"She is alive. But when she is finally free, you may wish she had died."  
  
That didn't help my nerves any.  
  
We passed through Liege, Verviers, and Eupen before hitting the border into Germany. I'd long since memorized our route and the location of each scheduled stop, and I was counting them now with a growing sense of concern that was beginning to scare me. I'd never cared about anything or anyone so much before, and I couldn't comprehend what I'd do if I got there only to find that she'd been wiped from the memory of everyone on the planet, except for myself. The insanity that LeBeau had always claimed must run in my family would probably break loose . . . and that was yet another thing I didn't want to think about.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
There were twelve major cities on the agenda before finally arriving in Berlin once we hit the border. Suleiman knew I was in a hurry and was pushing everyone as hard as they could, but I was increasingly agitated as the days passed anyway. Magda insisted on my submission to back rubs every night in an effort to calm me down.  
  
"Why do you bother?" I sighed and peeled off my shirt again. "You yourself said I'm just as tense the next day anyway."  
  
"You need the physical contact," she said quietly, warming the sage-scented oil between her palms. "Besides, doesn't it help for at least a few hours?"  
  
I didn't answer, I just sat there on the bed and let her work. She sighed in resignation and began working, focusing as always on my shoulders and upper back. I glanced at the clock forty-five minutes later and realized just how much effort she must put in every day on this.  
  
"Yes, that's about right," she answered when I asked if it usually took her this long to loosen all the knots. Her hands stopped but rested flat against my back. "Allah," she breathed, "you don't even notice, do you? What has you so worried, Nightcrawler? What's in Berlin?"  
  
"Everything," I sighed, suddenly feeling much older than my twenty-six years. I closed my eyes and just sat there, unmoving even when she slowly slid her hands down my back and around my sides so that her palms rested on my stomach. I let her hold me like this for a while, admitting deep inside that the contact was soothing. I didn't stop her when she placed a gentle kiss on my shoulder, then another, her fingers lightly moving with the grain of my fur. I brought my hands to hers, my fingers tracing over hers as she continued petting me. "Magdalena," I whispered roughly when she kissed me again, this time on my neck.  
  
"Nightcrawler?" her voice was melodic in my ear, her breath warming my skin in a very enticing way.  
  
"No," I pulled her hands apart and away from my body. "This isn't right . . ." I couldn't help thinking about what Miriam must feel each time she was taken advantage of, as she surely must have been by now. I wasn't going to inflict that on Magdalena.  
  
"It is my charge to care for you," she reached out to touch my arm.  
  
"Not like this. Not when its orders," I felt my throat closing on me. I'd heard of this sort of thing happening before but never connected it to any right I had as a Sicarii assassin . . .  
  
"I was not ordered to do this," her voice was soft but steady. "It is my choice to look after you in whatever way is necessary. No one forces any priestess to do this."  
  
"And you think I need you in this way?" I managed. "It's not you I want, Magda."  
  
"I know," she whispered. "She's in Berlin, the woman you ask about everywhere we stop. I know," she'd moved across the room to me and begun petting my shoulder. "But you're no good to anyone like this, Nightcrawler. You need to get this out of your system one way or another."  
  
My breathing seemed to be coming in shivering gasps as I struggled with my desire to give in. It was so tempting, what she offered, and with each second that passed, each caress she lavished on me, each touch of her lips on my skin I broke down a little more until I finally turned around, pulled her to me, and kissed her deeply.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
After Aachen we headed for Cologne, where we had arrangements for a friendly ferry up the river. As a result the trip past Düsseldorf, Duisburg, Essen, and Dortmund would shave two weeks off compared to hoofing it. Magdalena offered herself to me again after that day in Aachen, but I refused each advance. I didn't say anything to the effect, but after it was over and I woke up next to her, I felt worse than I did beforehand. Yes, losing myself in her allowed me to decompress for a while, to stop thinking about the things that had been plaguing my mind for months now, but it all came right back in force. Adding to that was that I felt like I'd cheated on Miriam somehow. I tried to rationalize it away, telling myself that she and I had never made any commitments to each other, that what happened didn't matter because we both admitted up front that it was just sex, but I couldn't convince myself of it. And rather than let her touch me again in even the most innocent way, I kept my distance and withdrew into myself.  
  
Things were going well for us as a group until we hit Munster three days after getting off the ferry in Dortmund. The safe house we were supposed to stay in didn't live up to its name. It came as a surprise to almost all of us -- it was only when we rounded the corner onto the street that Suzanne tried frantically to tell us we had to turn back.  
  
"There's nowhere else to go," Suleiman said patiently. "It's ten minutes from dawn; we can't be seen on the streets, Suz."  
  
"Our problems will be compounded if we go to the house," she insisted to no avail. "We must find other shelter."  
  
"I'll go first," I offered, but Magda grabbed my arm suddenly.  
  
"No! You're too valuable, stay in the back," she whispered, her face drained of all color.  
  
My instincts were bristling again so I did as she asked, moving to the back of the group as Suleiman knocked and gave the code words. The bolts slid open and we began to file in . . . then all hell broke loose. The house had been infiltrated, the host obviously persuaded to let us in so the SS could cut us down more quickly.  
  
Bullets flew in seemingly every direction as the Sicarii opened fire on the cops. The priestesses were trying to extract the refugees while the rest of us fought back in whatever ways we could. Ramon and Marcos were packing heat and aiming for anything in a uniform. As I drew my swords and teleported into the fray I caught a glimpse of Rick slicing through the tendons of one man's heels, sending him to the floor in surprise that allowed Peter to knife him in the chest. Suleiman was nowhere to be seen; I figured he'd fallen as the first rounds cut through the air. I did what I do best, taking down as many of them as quickly as I could . . . bamf, tail, jump down and run another through, sheisse dropped a sword, let go with tail grab a head port again . . . "Nightcrawler! Behind you!" someone shouted. I felt someone bump into me and looked around quickly, saw nothing by way of threat, and kept fighting.  
  
Minutes later the front entrance hall to the house was littered with blood, tissue, and bodies. Sirens were already wailing onto the curbs - more had been notified. They must have known our ETA. They didn't bother trying to cut us down. Instead the windows shattered as a metal canister was thrown inside, bursting upon impact and choking us with poisoned gas.  
  
"Got to get out!" Ramon tried to shout in his shaky English, barely carrying because he was coughing so badly. He and Marcos stumbled out into the street and the waiting officers, who gunned them down as they hit the pavement. My lungs burned and my eyes felt like they'd melt out of my skull as I held my breath and tried to find survivors to 'port out. Rick was on the ground, immobile, as was Suleiman, I now saw. Peter was choking as he tried to stay low to the ground, hoping for cleaner air there. I wordlessly bamfed over, grabbed him, and moved us to momentary safety.  
  
"Dort! Herauf dort das Dach! Schiessen Sie sie!" ["There! Up there, the roof! Shoot them!"] came the orders.  
  
Efficient as always, they opened fire on us and got a hit. I bit back a cry as I felt my arm rip open then heaved in a lungful of clear air before moving us again, and again, and again until we were a mile and a half or so away.  
  
"Got to go back, get the others," Peter managed before vomiting from the travel.  
  
"Too dangerous," my eyes were watering badly and my lungs still felt like a cat was using them as a scratching post. "We won't make it."  
  
"We 'ave to!" Peter persisted. "If they see those sigils, th' 'ole bleedin' ghetto'll be exterminated fer retribution. Seen it 'appen before."  
  
"I said no," I rasped, ripping away half my shirt for an emergency tourniquet. "I'm not sure I can even get them all after that, and there's no saving the dead." I knotted the cloth with my teeth and my good arm.  
  
"Ricky is still alive!"  
  
"We have to find the refugees," I tried to change the subject, spying out over the rooftop for any sign of them or the trouble that might be following them.  
  
"You goddamned soddin' Kraut! Did y'ear wot I said??" Peter stomped over and shoved me in the chest. "While yer lookin' fer those sods when they've already got help, yer killin' thousands o' innocent people!"  
  
"And do you really think they won't think this is Sicarii, bodies or not?" I retorted rationally. "Only the stupidest of people would travel in such a large group without hired protection. You know that."  
  
"'e's still alive," he repeated in a more subdued tone. "We can't just leave 'im to die."  
  
My conscience nagged at me and I relented, taking hold of Peter again to go back. "Why do you care anyway? I thought you two hated each other now."  
  
"'E's me only family I got left," he answered between 'ports. "Yer don' just let that go."  
  
I was lightheaded from exhaustion and blood loss by the time we got back to the safe house, which was now on fire. Peter was shaking, but if it was from more teleporting or from emotion, I couldn't tell.  
  
"Wait here," I instructed and crawled down the walls. I noted absently that the police had left and the bodies were gone, probably off to the city morgue for examination. I didn't expect to find Rick inside, but I went in anyway, slinking along the ground to avoid the thick smoke. I found him on the ground where we'd left him, his mouth open and leaking blood and his eyes glassy and staring at nothing in front of him. I took him under my good arm and headed back out, managing somehow to climb back up with him in tow. Peter said nothing when he saw his kin lying in my arms, he just swallowed hard and headed for the fire escape.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The boys had made this run before and learned where to go for help when things fucked up; and while the doctor's eyes never got smaller than saucers the whole time he worked on my arm, he was willing to keep his mouth shut for the right amount of money. He'd also examined Rick's body and pronounced that he'd died of cyanide poisoning - he'd suffocated to death.  
  
Peter still wasn't talking to me when we left Rick's grave. We'd carried him into the countryside between Munster and Osnabruck and buried him without ceremony, moving on as soon as we were done to reach the next stop. Still using the emergency procedures, Peter secured a room in a tavern in Osnabruck that we could stay in as long as our few remaining Marks lasted. A traveling musician was passing through the same time we were, and while I stayed upstairs out of prudence, Peter headed to the tap room to find out whatever information the bard could provide.  
  
"The other's are in hiding in Hannover, waitin' fer us," Peter informed me as he walked in. It was the only thing he said to me the rest of the journey to the next town.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Oh, thank Allah you're alright!!" Magdalena greeted us after Peter and I crowded into the small attic in Hannover. "What happened? Where are the others??"  
  
"'Aven't 'ad a chance t'read the news, gel?" Peter's sardonic wit sliced at her as he tossed a bundle of newsprint at her head.  
  
She blinked in surprise as he threw himself down in a far corner of the room to brood. Then she opened the paper and read the front page in shock, her right hand going to her mouth as the left held the newspaper up.  
  
"What is it?" Remi asked, breaking his characteristic silence. The other refugees were leaning forward attentively while Suzanne looked down at the floor, weeping silently.  
  
I'd seen the paper and didn't need a translation for the Spanish she uttered or the French that followed. The headline proudly proclaimed in the official tongue of the Reich that rebels had been captured. The article had gone on to explain that in a glorious feat of the concerted efforts of the Gestapo and the SS, an underground stop on the refugee pipeline had been discovered and a band of dissidents had been intercepted as they sought to disgrace the Reich. Several bodies had been recovered, all bearing the marks of the infamous Sicarii order. And furthermore, in a splendid display of force, an example had been made out of the ghetto in Munster where all the residents were rounded up and executed. The article concluded with the optimistic sentiment that perhaps now the cowardly leaders of the Sicarii would turn themselves in and cease their terroristic activities and their crimes against the German citizenry.  
  
"The article says only three bodies were recovered. Is someone still missing?" Magda asked when she was done spreading the news, tears welling in her eyes.  
  
"Nein," I sighed. "We buried Rick outside of town."  
  
"Oh, Peter . . . I'm so sorry . . ." Adeline's lips trembled as she knelt beside him to lay a comforting hand on his arm.  
  
"Don' touch me," he snapped, jerking away from her. She bit her lip and moved away.  
  
"So, what now?" I asked Magdalena and Suzanne later, apart from the refugees.  
  
"We keep going," Suzanne answered. "There is nothing else to do but that."  
  
I nodded in agreement. We set out the next evening for Brunswick, the next scheduled stop on our original route to Siberia.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Peter finally decided to speak to me again as we were coming up on Magdeburg. His face was grim and his tone decidedly cold.  
  
"'e died because of you," he started without preamble.  
  
I could have protested that, but I knew it would do no good. And besides, there was no way of knowing if the extra minutes would have made a difference. Perhaps Rick would have died from his injuries instead of cyanide if we'd gotten to him sooner, or perhaps he would have survived. It didn't matter though, because Peter would likely always think me responsible for his brother's death.  
  
"Bloody fool thought he owed you fer somethin' y'know," he continued, staring straight ahead. "Y'woulda got yer own sword in th'back if he 'adn't jumped in front of it."  
  
Frost touched my blood as I recalled the hasty warning and the impact shortly after. Debts repaid . . . so what was the debt to be taken on?  
  
"I'll give ya that ya prob'ly couldn't 'ave got the others. Jumpin' round like a monkey takes it outta ya, eh?"  
  
"I've never tested the hypothesis, but it could probably kill me if I did it enough," I kept my gaze ahead of us as well.  
  
"Yer priestess tol' me y'ain't really talkin' t'er much these days."  
  
"That's none of your business," my blood warmed back up almost to boiling. What the hell was she doing talking to a kid about anything that went on between us??  
  
"She didn' tell me you buggered 'er, if that's what yer thinkin'. Figgered that out on me own."  
  
I saw him smirk in my peripheral vision.  
  
"But she did say that she's concerned about you. Beats me as t'why - yer a right bastard, y'know that?"  
  
"Does this conversation have a point?" I growled.  
  
"Aye, it does. We all know yer in this fer the wrong reasons, mate. Yer just doin' this t'get t'some gel in Berlin. Lookin' after these people is secondary t'yeh."  
  
"I'm doing my job, and doing it well. What problem do you have with that?"  
  
Peter stopped walking and stayed put until I backed up to stand next to him. "Yer priorities need some work. That's why yer gonna take me on as yer apprentice."  
  
"You're crazy," I snorted. "You're so annoying I'd have to kill you within the first week."  
  
"Feelin's mutual. Think I came t'this decision with a smile on me face?"  
  
"You decided to be my apprentice." I leveled a stare at him. "What in the hell for?"  
  
"Cause y'owe me. Me little brother's rottin' in a grave partways 'cause o' yeh. An' if I'm gonna learn how t'cut down those Nazi pigs as repayment fer it, I'm set on learning from the best there is."  
  
I took a deep breath, exhaled loudly, and started walking again. "What make you think I'll take you on?"  
  
"I'll bother th' hell outta ya fer th' rest o' yer days one way or another. May as well do something productive with it, I say."  
  
Magdeburg and Potsdam passed by with barely any notice from myself because I was too absorbed in thinking about my new set of problems bundled up in a teenage boy. By the time I set my bag down on my pallet in the Berlin Cabal, I'd finally resigned myself to the fact that I now had an apprentice to look after and mentor.  
  
Jesus Christ, what a scary thought.  
  
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FuzzyDIR aka TheDarkIsRising: No offense, dear, but if my updating is the best Christmas present you've ever gotten, you need to slap your parents silly. Either that, or you need to lower whatever pedestal you've got me on - I've got this bad case of acrophobia, you see . . . Really though, I'm flattered that you're digging the story that much. Thank you. Yeah, I took a look and the format was really screwy, so I converted it from a text file into Microsoft Word and uploaded that version over the existing one. Seems to have fixed the problem, go figure. More . . . sensitive . . . child- rearing . . . *snigger**snort**riotous laughter* Uh, yeah, just wait till you read the next one. Oh wait, you just did. Heh.  
  
Ncsgirl: Glad I didn't pass over you in the greetings area. Don't worry about missing a review, I figured you were out there. I've earned more applause than you should give? May I ask why? I just hope this longer chapter earns the overflow, at least . . . 


	17. Miriam

I took a deep breath and smiled happily as I felt the warm body next to me shift closer. We were someplace warm, soft, and clean - it seemed odd that the bed linens smelled of lavender, though. Usually didn't see that in the safe houses.  
  
I made a small noise of enjoyment and moved closer to him. He responded by kissing my shoulder tenderly, his lips moving over the flesh there as his arms squeezed me tight around my waist. I felt certain parts of his anatomy poking me and smiled wider - so we had made love last night, finally. That must be what the aching between my legs was. I'd heard that it hurts the first time . . .  
  
His touch slowly moved to my ribs, his open palm sweeping over my curves in a way that made me taut with desire. Down my waist, up over my hip, rubbing along my thigh, and back up again . . . "Nightcrawler," I moaned softly and kept my eyes closed. It felt good. He felt good, and I couldn't wait to feel more of him. He made a small noise of enjoyment and kissed me between my shoulder blades, his hand moving from my hip to between my legs. And suddenly, for some reason I couldn't immediately fathom, it seemed threatening all of a sudden. My mind and heart both raced as he touched me, trying to figure it out what -  
  
Fingers. Nightcrawler only had two and a thumb-  
  
I jerked awake and away from whoever it was who was touching me, shrieking loudly enough to make them recoil instinctively to the other end of the bed for a moment.  
  
Erich. Oh God, I was staring back at Erich Heidelmann, who was gaping at me with wide blue eyes and very ruffled blonde hair before recovering enough to ask me if I'd had a bad dream.  
  
I couldn't answer him. I couldn't even remotely act proper at that moment. Couldn't apologize, explain, excuse myself, nothing. All I could manage was to look around frantically for the w.c. and get there in time to completely empty my guts of whatever I had eaten last night. Erich let me finish what I was doing in peace (well, as much peace as one has when puking ones insides out), but when I came back out several minutes later he wordlessly handed me his robe to cover up with. I took it from him with trembling hands and covered myself up, noting silently with an odd burst of humor that it was far too long for me and swept the ground - I had the image of a queen in her royal robes.  
  
Yeah, Queen Esther sleeping with Haman instead of King Ahasuerus*.  
  
If there'd been anything left in my stomach, I'd have been sick again.  
  
"Too much wine last night, Miriam?" he asked me in a soft voice.  
  
"Uh," I latched onto the excuse, "yes. I'm sorry, I've never been much of a drinker . . . "  
  
He nodded and told me to go ahead and get cleaned up; he'd meet me downstairs for breakfast. I headed for the shower and scrubbed myself physically clean, but inside I felt like a leper. Or a whore. Maybe a combination of the two.  
  
When I got downstairs Erich was at the table, sipping coffee while he read the paper. I was reading the headline on the front page when he looked up, gestured for me to sit down, and commented with a frown, "Absolutely disgraceful. There's been another assassination."  
  
"Yes, the Spanish ambassador, judging from the headlines." I thanked the butler for the coffee and asked for some toast.  
  
"And eggs for her, too," Erich ordered. When I began to protest he smiled a little. "It'll help you with the hangover."  
  
"Oh," I blinked and assented. "Over easy, please," I tried to smile at the hired man. He nodded and went back to the kitchen. "Who do they think is responsible?" I continued the conversation.  
  
"Who else? It has to be the Sicarii. But this one is more barbaric than usual, even for them."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"You don't know anything about this, okay?" He leveled a serious gaze at me, continuing only when I nodded. "It didn't make the papers, but the Ministry says he was decapitated."  
  
I blinked a few times. "That's not their usual tactic?"  
  
"Not like this. There appears to have been no instruments used to do the deed." He let that sink in for a moment before continuing on, as though it were not at all unusual, "And the security cameras hidden in the walls caught the most unusual thing. When the assassin got past the guards, he didn't force the doors leading to the ambassador. He simply disappeared, and reappeared on the other side - or so it would seem. Most unusual, wouldn't you say?"  
  
"Absolutely," I breathed, completely shocked. I recovered enough to ask, "Do they have any idea how it was done? I mean, people don't just blink in and out of the world like that."  
  
"Not yet, but the tapes are being reviewed frame by frame. They'll figure it out." He looked back at the paper to another article, offering me my choice from the remaining sections on the table. I picked up the local news and pretended to read it as the magnitude of what he'd said begun to sink in.  
  
Nightcrawler was in Europe.  
  
He'd been seen, probably without knowing it.  
  
They'd seen him teleport.  
  
But he was here. He was coming for me. I was intensely proud of myself for waiting until after the taxi dropped me off at my flat and I was inside before weeping with relieved elation.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The Ministry was bustling madly as they tried to figure out who and what Nightcrawler was and how he did the disappearing trick. No one said it - it was strictly classified information - but there was nothing else I could think of that would have them scrambling like that. Erich's job had become a lot more interesting and fast-paced than normal as every bit of intelligence and intercepted communications were picked over again and again for hints regarding the newest assassin to pop up. Others were brought in to translate, as I was too busy typing memos to other officials and taking phone calls to do the job myself. I endured this as well as I could; as the pace continued to pick up around the office I started to wonder just what they'd uncovered, and the not knowing began to worry me.  
  
Even outside of work, Erich was distracted. The plays he took me to couldn't adequately hold his attention; talk during dinner was strained as he struggled to find lighter topics to discuss; and when we were invited to his parents' house again for another luncheon party he was distracted there, too. But he encouraged me to go play, and so I was sitting in Mrs. Heidelmann's garden with a cup of coffee in my hands and talking with Elizabeth yet again.  
  
"Are you sure you won't consider giving us another go?" she asked softly before sipping her own coffee. "You're in a prime position to help us, and I'll admit it, we're worried."  
  
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," I lied with much displayed regret, "but after what happened last time . . ." I let the thought trail off unfinished and watched an insect working on a rose.  
  
"I understand," she sighed, obviously disappointed. We were quiet for a minute before she changed the subject. "How are you and Erich getting on? Is he good to you?"  
  
"Yes, he's a perfect gentleman," I replied. It was true; he was as much a gentleman as a master could be with his slave. "He's treating me very well, thank you for asking."  
  
"Do you still miss your beau from America?" she asked gently.  
  
"Well, one never forgets the good times," I answered with a touch of sadness. "But I try to not think about him. It's not like I'll ever see him again."  
  
"Does he have a name?"  
  
A red flag went up and I remembered Christopher's admonishment to not trust her. "Oh, yes!" I laughed, gears spinning. "Nicholas Cruxhaven." I figured that was close enough mnemonically to Nightcrawler for me to remember it again.  
  
"What was he like?"  
  
"Hm . . ." I stalled for time and finally decided on part of the truth. "Very witty, but always a bit moody. He'd recently lost his parents when I met him, and I think he was still dealing with the shock."  
  
"It was sudden, then?"  
  
"Yes. One day everything was normal, and then they were just gone." Hurray for vague euphemisms. "He took it pretty hard."  
  
"How did you two meet?"  
  
"I . . . I really don't feel like talking about Nick," I bit my lip. I knew she was fishing for something. "I don't want to think about him, okay? I still miss him and it's hard . . ." I sighed. "Please don't ask again."  
  
Elizabeth nodded and let it drop, moving on to more lady-like topics such as the new line of make-up advertised in some magazine and the sale she'd hit in the department store earlier in the week. I joined in these topics eagerly, thankful that the topics had changed. But after a while I began to notice something . . .  
  
"Is it my imagination, or have the new arrivals not come over to say hello?"  
  
Elizabeth sighed. "No, you're right. Those are friends of Margot Kohler," she nodded in their direction and I followed her eyes, watching them smoke cigarettes across the garden with Erich's mother. "I understand she caused some trouble for you at the last get-together."  
  
"Erich certainly thought so," I murmured, watching them.  
  
"He's right to be concerned. It's been whispered that you two are intimate together, and he can't afford that sort of a scandal right now."  
  
The woman in the bright blue dress looked over, saw me, and turned back around haughtily when I smiled and waved hello.  
  
"Is the air better above her head like that?" I turned back around.  
  
"If she doesn't start looking where she's breathing, she's likely to catch a bumblebee in the nose. You can imagine the scene that would cause," Elizabeth retorted wickedly.  
  
I stifled my laughter, relieved to see that Elizabeth was doing the same. "Back to serious conversation, though," I recomposed myself, "I'd think a scandal would be the least of his concerns. If it reaches the authorities, I mean . . ."  
  
"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much," she dismissed my concern with a graceful wave of her hand. "Money talks louder than any socialite, especially when it's used to line the pockets of an official. He can afford to buy his way out of it at least once."  
  
I hoped she was right. My life would become very interesting if she wasn't.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
My first major social event with Erich came roughly a few months later. We'd been invited to a masquerade party to celebrate the Summer Solstice, and things had finally settled down to the point that Erich could enjoy himself again. We spent time together working out what we were going as and when we made our entrance, we were an immediate sensation. We'd gone as Spring and Autumn. I was dressed in a sweeping gown of pastel pink with accents of brilliant blues, greens, and yellows. My long gloves were also pink with flowering vines embroidered in vibrant detail, my purse had been special ordered to match, and my hair was upswept and pinned with fresh flowers. My face was hidden by a mask sporting sequins in hues that matched the rest of my costume. Erich, on the other hand, was decked out in a suit of gold, orange, and flaming red with a mask to match. And I had to admit, we were a very good looking couple that night. He'd paid off the authorities before an official inquest could be held and the social sniping about our relationship had died down considerably; and so no one had any hesitation about coming up to us and making conversation. I met so many socialites that it made my head spin but I spoke gaily to them all, trilling on like I belonged among them. I'd had months of preparation for it through all the little gatherings before hand and it was now second nature to sip drinks and speak vapidly about nothing at all.  
  
The late afternoon melted into evening, and when I got a half a second to myself I realized I was having a good time. Erich had generously allowed me to dance with anyone who asked, and he was doing the same, sweeping other costumed ladies over the dance floor with the same ease he displayed in the privacy of his home. I was currently in the arms of a young man with brilliant green eyes, smiling up at him as he told me about his home in Austria. I listened politely, asking appropriate questions, and agreeing moments later that we both needed a spot of rest. He and I walked to the punch bowl and shared a drink on the balcony, still talking about ourselves. He was now asking about me - where was I from, how had I met Erich, etc. I gave guarded answers but still spoke openly. Of all the people who'd chosen to come up to me, he was the first to make real conversation. It was a very pleasant change of pace.  
  
"Hey, Miriam," he grinned at me, "you seem like an adventurous woman. I've been here before; the Chancellor has an amazing set of Faberge Eggs in another wing. Want to see them?"  
  
I laughed nervously, glancing around. "Are you sure that's wise? I mean, what if someone comes looking for us?"  
  
"It'll take just a minute. Come on," he took my hand and began weaving us through the crowd quickly. Moments later we were in a darkened hallway, and another moment later he was opening the door to the room at the end.  
  
"I don't think we should be here," I whispered.  
  
"It's not like you're going to steal anything," he whispered back. "Come on, live a little."  
  
I took a deep breath and went in after him. The door closed on the blackened room and I felt someone grab me from behind. Their hand went over my mouth before I could cry out, and someone else bent my head down and jabbed a needle in my neck. My instincts kicked in and I stomped down hard on someone's foot, gave someone an elbow in the stomach, and took the first opportunity to spin around and away from my attackers.  
  
"This will be easier if you don't make us hurt you," my dancing companion spoke into my ear. "That was just a tracker, small enough that Heidelmann won't notice it's there. If he asks, it's a bug bite, understand?"  
  
"Fuck you!" I spat, trying to see anything in the darkness and failing. "Who in the hell are you and what do you want with me??"  
  
"She has to ask. Jesus, we're losing our touch," someone else answered flippantly.  
  
"She's a firecracker though. I can see why he likes her so much," another person answered their friend. "As always, the Ghost has come through spectacularly well."  
  
"You've heard of the Sicarii before. We know you have, working in the Ministry of Intelligence and all," yet another voice answered my question. "As for what we want with you . . . You're going to help us out."  
  
"Go to Hell," I growled with courage I wasn't sure I was really feeling. "I'm not that stupid. I'm into self-preservation."  
  
"That's why you'll help us, Ms. Shaham," the same voice continued smoothly. "That tracker tells us where you are every minute. We'll use it to send someone to see you every week, where you will provide to us information about everything Heidelmann's been doing since the last visit. Refuse to cooperate and we'll kill you. Try to run and we'll find you, then kill you."  
  
"Rather painfully for the trouble too, I might add," the flippant one piped up.  
  
"You're observant and intelligent, Ms. Shaham. We're not asking you to do anything you've not already been doing. We're just asking you to tell us what you see and hear."  
  
"You're not exactly asking," I rubbed the back of my neck.  
  
"See what I mean? Smart and observant."  
  
I'd begun to shake with anger and fear by this point. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing, not even when a flashlight clicked on near the glass cases lining the sides of the room. As promised, there were Faberge Eggs inside the cases. The person holding the torch and the glass cutter was dressed all in black, including a mask that obscured their face; after examining one of the Eggs they pronounced that they were real.  
  
"Go shopping," the serious one, who I guessed was the leader of the band, instructed. "That's enough to keep us in good shape for the rest of the year at least."  
  
I was still shaken when I was escorted back out to the dance floor by my partner, who left me just as soon as I hit the parquet tiles. He disappeared into the crowd, which I now noticed was in a pandemonium.  
  
"Miriam! There you are!" Erich's hand grabbed my arm roughly, his mask discarded, his face pale. "Time to go."  
  
"Why? What's happened?" I tried to see what was causing the disturbance but saw only frantic people.  
  
"Come on, quickly. There are probably more."  
  
I let him lead me out to the car, where his driver peeled away and barreled down the streets, back out to the Autobahn, and towards home.  
  
"Erich, what happened?"  
  
"Sicarii," he stared out the windows. "The Chancellor is dead."  
  
My eyes widened and I stared straight ahead.  
  
"Where were you? How did you not know what was happening?"  
  
"I got dragged to another part of the mansion by someone. He . . . he tried to rape me," my voice shook. I could have told him the truth, but I figured that would get me killed by someone.  
  
"Are you okay?" he turned to face me, concern in his eyes.  
  
"Y-yes. I got away . . ." I trailed off as he offered me his arm. I moved closer and curled up next to him, silent for the rest of the drive. Erich said nothing either, and the miles dragged by slowly at 100 kilometers per hour.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
*In the Old Testament, Esther was a peasant Jewish virgin who won the favor of the King and became his bride. Haman was an advisor to the King who sought the extermination of the Jewish people. Esther discovered a plot of Haman's to do just this, screwed the King silly, and asked him to reverse Haman's decree. The Jewish festival of Purim celebrates Esther's preservation of the Hebrew people. 


	18. Miriam

I didn't sleep at all that night. Thankfully it was a weekend and I was able to crash sometime the next afternoon, sleeping fitfully as the ramifications of everything that had gone on at the Solstice Ball assaulted my mind. I'd heard a term for what I now was to the Sicarii - I was now an OIO: Obligated Involuntary Officer. That angered me at first, then it occurred to me that any rescue attempts Nightcrawler would make had just gotten a huge monkey wrench thrown into them. We wouldn't be able to fight them all off forever, and he'd be just as marked as I if I left with him. I tried to think about other things and settled on what the Chancellor's death meant for life in Berlin and the rest of the Reich. There was a successor in place of course, and they'd be sworn in the next morning if they hadn't been already. But something like that couldn't just go unanswered . . . A few weeks before the papers had described the type of retributions the government handed out when hitting back at the resistance. If catching a group of refugees in Munster resulted in the slaughter of the town's Jewish population, what atrocities would be carried out for such a daring assassination? It was a reality I didn't want to think about.  
  
The most notable thing about life in Berlin since the Chancellor's death was the increased security measures everywhere. A curfew was imposed for all citizens at eleven p.m., which annoyed Erich enough for him to comment on it several times. When he wasn't busy playing with me he liked to be out late drinking, smoking, and doing whatever else it was aristocrats did to relax when among their own. All it meant for me was that I spent a lot more time entertaining him in ways that still made my flesh crawl.  
  
Well, that's not all it meant. It also meant that I now had papers that I had to show the security guards at the Ministry every morning that declared me a Jewess with special clearance. Those papers got checked against my left arm every day, which drew varied reactions from the citizens around me - most of them slightly embarrassing to me. They also issued a badge that I had to wear on my lapel throughout the building, since apparently it was too much trouble to check my tattoos once I was past the lobby. Or maybe it was just easier, since everyone there had similar identification pinned to their chests. I didn't really care. I was too busy taking note of snatches of conversations and memorizing what I typed about each day to let it bother me.  
  
Erich and I kept sharing beds since the first night long ago, and I'd unfortunately grown used to the routine. He never called me over just for sex - that was beneath him. He liked to maintain the illusion that I was a lady suitable for his social standing, and so he always preluded our bedroom antics with a nice dinner at his home, at the very least. He loved to go out to events that showed his money - exclusive clubs, operas, lavish parties, whatever got him into the spotlight. Surprisingly enough, this continued after the Ball - he said that it wouldn't do to give in to the terrorists by being afraid to go about our lives. And so I continued to dress myself up very prettily in silks and laces, continued to paint my body, and continued to be unwrapped at the end of the evening like an obscene gift to a spoiled child.  
  
As for the Sicarii, I didn't even have to wait a whole week before I got my first visit - lucky me. I know, I don't deserve all this happiness . . .  
  
"Hello, Miriam," I was greeted one evening after work by a strange voice.  
  
After I landed back on the ground, I asked who the person was that was stretched out on my couch, my television remote in his hand.  
  
"I'm Jonathan. I'm your contact."  
  
"Yipee." I put my purse in its usual place and poured some water for myself.  
  
"So, what's the story, morning glory?" He grinned at me like we were best friends.  
  
"What do you want to know?" We were speaking in English, mine with my normal slight Southern drawl, his with a proper British accent.  
  
"Let's start with the Ministry. What are they saying about current events?"  
  
"From what I've seen, the Gestapo is on the move trying to find your headquarters." I drained my water and refilled. "They've brought in the big guns, and are looking into every home in Berlin for traitors. I also overheard that they've got people in the sewers, even."  
  
"Hm," Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "What else?"  
  
"They're still working on the weird guy who took out the Spanish ambassador a while back," my stomach twisted. "They think he's part of the Sicarii because they figure he's too skilled to be a lone vigilante."  
  
"What have they got on him? Anything interesting?"  
  
"They have a tape they keep going over, according to Erich. He says they've got some scientists examining it now, trying to figure out how he got past the doors."  
  
This visibly shook Jonathan, who dropped his feet back to my carpeting and leaned forward. "They've got video of that?"  
  
"Is he one of yours?"  
  
"I do the questions, luv," he leaned back again. "What exactly is on that tape? I want every detail you know, no matter how little."  
  
I took a deep breath and blinked, trying to remember everything I'd been told while sorting apart the things I already knew of Nightcrawler. If he and they weren't allies, I didn't want to give them any ammo. "He doesn't look human, although he's upright and sporting the correct number of limbs, plus one rather functional tail. He's very dark in color, but they can't tell what shade exactly because it's in black and white. He carries swords. I don't know what you'd call it," yeah right, "but there are at least two times when he does some kind of magic trick."  
  
"What trick?" my visitor was frowning.  
  
"He's there one minute, then some kind of gas appears and he's gone, then the gas again someplace else with him in the middle of it. They're stumped because the first time it shows up it could be slight of hand, but the second time he does it he goes from one side of a bolted titanium door to the other side, without the doors opening."  
  
"They never opened?"  
  
"Not until security showed up with the police and unlocked it with the master key. Apparently, it was still magnetically sealed."  
  
"Well, that's certainly something, isn't it?" he mused absently. "Back to the late Chancellor, though . . ."  
  
"Nothing else for me to tell there. It's all classified, and I'm not good enough to handle those memos."  
  
"Got anything on security measures for the new bloke?"  
  
I went on to tell him everything else I'd heard, glad when he'd finally picked my brain clean and decided it was time to leave. He told me he'd see me next week at the same time, then he left my apartment.  
  
I rubbed the back of my neck again, which was still sore from the injection. Then I locked my front door and headed off to take a bubble bath in the hopes of unwinding.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Berlin was burning.  
  
Further downtown, where the slums and ghettos were, the nighttime sky was an angry shade of red as the buildings there were set alight. I could see it from my windows, and I stood there watching the fires spread while the newscasters narrated the pogrom as though it were a match of football. According to the television, the concerned citizens were trying to flush out Sicarii members and sympathizers and innocent Jews had nothing to worry about. I knew it couldn't be further from the truth; our blood was proof of guilt, no matter what the alleged crime might be.  
  
As time passed the fires and mobs spread to areas further uptown, and I began to worry when the reporter said that they'd been sighted within fifteen blocks of my apartment building. I could see that the blaze was indeed creeping closer; but there was nowhere I could go. It was past the Jewish curfew and approaching that for citizens. Perhaps I'd be okay if I turned out all my lights now, drew my shades, and pretended no one was home.  
  
They arrived within the half-hour, diminished in size from what it had been before, but still large enough of a crowd that everyone was huddling inside. I heard some glass shatter across the street, heard angry voices taunting for the Jews to come out to play, and hoped that they'd pass me by. But I wasn't so lucky - one of my windows shattered and something heavy landed with a thud in my living room. Oh God, what if it was a Molotov cocktail??  
  
I breathed a very audible sigh of relief when I saw that it was just a brick with a note tied around it. Just a brick? Heh . . . could be some other nasty surprise. I didn't hear anything ticking, so I carefully untied the twine and unwrapped the brick. A slur not worth repeating was scrawled across the paper in a hasty hand and I shrugged. Then I saw the cassette tape.  
  
It was of a popular musician, or that's what the liner claimed. The tape within was factory stamped with the same artist and album, and fully re- wound. My brow scrunched up in confusion - who the hell terrorized people with love songs?? I waited until the rabble-rousers had moved on and disbanded, then I popped the tape into my player and sat down to listen.  
  
"What in the world . . .?" I looked around my apartment in exasperated curiosity. The tape was on the third song now, flowing just as the program said it should. And then it happened, just after the second stanza of the fourth song. A break in the tape where someone had cut in to record over it.  
  
"Hello, Beth! What's the good word?" Erich's cheerful voice reached my ears. If it was meant to get my attention, it worked very well. I leaned forward in the armchair as I focused on the recorded conversation.  
  
"Absolutely fascinating stuff," Elizabeth's voice answered. "I've finally gotten all of the reports you requested."  
  
"Yes, and?" Erich's voice clearly revealed his eager anticipation.  
  
"Charleston, South Carolina," Elizabeth read off. "Two SS found murdered in an alleyway in the ghettos. One dead from apparent sword wounds, the other decapitated. No sign of weapons used on the decapitated officer."  
  
"Keep going," Erich's voice was more somber and yet more interested now.  
  
I listened with a trembling nervousness.  
  
"New Berlin. Reported burglary by two parties, a young girl and a monster. Girl is described as petite, very long curly brown hair, brown eyes, possible tattoo on left arm. Monster is described as human sized, blue, hairy, yellow eyes, has tail. Creature is reported to have moved so quickly it could not be seen in transit. Victims smelled of sulfur and brimstone when found."  
  
I felt like I was going to pass out. I gasped for air as I kept listening.  
  
"Next?" Erich asked.  
  
Elizabeth supplied, "Rural Virginia. Farmer reports the theft of foodstuffs including ham hocks and eggs. No sighting of perpetrator, but the lingering smell of sulfur and brimstone in barn is noted." The sound of shuffling papers was caught on the tape as well, then, "New York. Farmer reports to passing SS sighting of young girl and unknown creature. Girl is described as young, long brown hair, etc."  
  
"And the unknown creature?"  
  
"Not a big surprise. Dark in color, tail, yellow eyes. This was the last reported sighting of the creature and Miriam together."  
  
"But there's more on the creature?" Erich's voice was hopeful. He was not to be disappointed.  
  
"Days after you purchased Miriam, the guards in Westchester reported the abduction of another prisoner who was caught red-handed with refugees and incarcerated. Sulfur and brimstone were smelled near the kitchens and a boxcar on the rails absolutely reeked of the stench. But wait for it, it gets more intriguing."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Mmm-hmm . . . Our fleet off the Gulf of Cadiz detects a rebel vessel and opens fire. Rather than run back to open waters, the vessel moves closer to land before being sunk. No bodies were recovered. That one's purely circumstantial, as there is no sighting and nothing found with the smell. But then we get the late Ambassador in Madrid . . ."  
  
"It's in Europe," Erich's voice was crisp. "Where is it heading? Any reports?"  
  
"Here and there. A ferry checkpoint on the Duero detained a family trying to cross and was attacked by something that moved too quickly to be seen. Whatever it was looked deep blue, flashes of gold were seen, and several explosive bursts produced blue-tinged clouds that smelt of-"  
  
"-sulfur and brimstone," Erich finished with her.  
  
"Yes," Elizabeth sighed. "Whatever this thing is was seen during the raid in Munster, as well. Many SS were found with sword wounds, and the backup forces reported seeing a creature matching its description appear on a nearby rooftop from out of thin air. It disappeared when they started shooting at it."  
  
Erich sighed tiredly into the phone. "Great. So the Sicarii have got some kind of supernatural assassin working for them. If it really moves the way these sightings make it sound like, we're going to have a very hard time catching it."  
  
"Now, now . . . take heart, little brother."  
  
I didn't think it was possible for me to go any more tense than I had become by this point - but that was a clincher. It explained a lot of things, all of a sudden, if they were siblings . . .  
  
"There is light at the end of this tunnel. The forensic team that was sent in to clean up the scene of the raid checked out the rooftop that the creature fled to. They found a sample of blue flesh, with blue fur, and what was later confirmed at the laboratories as blood."  
  
The line was silent for a heartbeat before Erich replied thoughtfully, "And if it bleeds, we can kill it. Did she tell you anything about her little boyfriend back home?"  
  
"She's very closed about him. She claimed his name is Nicholas Cruxhaven. It's all she gave, and it's probably a fake name."  
  
"Of course it is. It's too close to Night Crawler in English for it to not be."  
  
"Do you think Night Crawler is fictitious?"  
  
"No, she said it in her sleep. It might be a code name, but this thing must answer to it at least part of the time. And it's heading here to reclaim Miriam-"  
  
The tape cut back in, the sickly sweet words of love and devotion magnifying my unease precisely because it was so "normal" after receiving this bombshell. I shut off the tape player and went to make a cup of tea to calm down, but I was shaking so badly that I dropped the mug and sent it shattering on the floor. I left it there and sank down to my knees, sobbing as the light at the end of my tunnel faded from sight.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
ncsgirl: Oh, it's real enough all right . . . *rummages about in the cookie tin for a bit of nummy nummy goodness*  
  
Colleen: Oh, you're right about Peter. I expect their interactions will make for some humorous reading. And the Faberge Egg guys? You've not seen the half of that. You're welcome, and thanks for reading and reviewing.  
  
TheDarkIsRising: Y'know, as I read the reviews coming in, I was actually surprised that no one seemed like they were going to howl at me for Kurt & Magda. Not that I did it for the howling, mind you, but I thoroughly expected to catch flak from you guys about it. But don't be so quick to judge her - as Evo Kurt says, "Chicks dig the fuzzy dude," and I've not gotten into her head yet. *smiles innocently* And yeah, Mr. Sexual Healing indeed . . . Yeah, the Sicarii are pushy. Yeah, one of them should kill Erich at some point. And yeah, Kurt and Miriam should get closer.  
  
MG: Thanks, and I intend to keep up on it. :) 


	19. Nightcrawler

We'd finally arrived in Berlin in late summer. As with all the other Reich- controlled cities I'd seen, most of the city was immaculately clean and well-ordered. Carefully tended trees and flowers lined streets laid out in precise patterns. The people moving through the city did so with purpose, obedient little automatons doing their part to support the Reich.  
  
That was the first impression of Berlin -- but like every other city Berlin would have its unsavory parts, its neighborhoods where the citizens were not necessarily decent, upstanding individuals. Such was our destination tonight. Peter and I ended up at a run-down watering hole where I took a seat in a darkened back corner, nursed a stein of beer, and watched the other patrons. Most of them were engaged by a musician near the back wall who played especially well for such a location; he would be important. I had no doubts about this. The more I observed him, the stronger this suspicion became; I counted the number of requests he took versus the number of papers dropped into his guitar case and smiled at the discrepancy.  
  
"She came to me one morning, one lonely Sunday morning, her long hair flowing in the mid-winter wind . . ."  
  
The musician sang in time with the clapping of the crowd*.  
  
"I know not how she found me, for in darkness I was walking and destruction lay around me from a fight I could not win . . ."  
  
"Oh, aye, 'e's one of ours," Peter tore off a chunk of bread and chewed.  
  
"You sound so certain." I smiled. I'd already begun training him, starting off with assessing just how good his observations were. "How do you know?"  
  
"The song's a code." He took a swill of beer as the chorus came.  
  
"She asked me name my foe, then I said the need within some men to fight and kill their brothers without thought of love or God . . ."  
  
I sat back and listened, Peter quietly pointing out the code words as they came up.  
  
"And I begged her give me horses to trample down my enemies, so eager was my passion to devour this waste of life . . ."  
  
"The assassins," he explained.  
  
"But she would not think of battle that reduces men to animals, so easy to begin and yet impossible to end. For she the mother of all men . . ."  
  
"The Metatron," Peter supplied.  
  
"Who counseled me so wisely then I feared to walk alone again and asked if she would stay . . ."  
  
The wordless chant of the chorus came up again, with many of the patrons singing along.  
  
"Oh Lady lend your hand! I cried. Oh let me rest here at your side! Have faith and trust in me she said, and filled my heart with life . . ."  
  
"The priesthood," my apprentice took another drink.  
  
"There is no strength in numbers, have no such misconception, but when you need me be assured I won't be far away . . ."  
  
"We can call on this Metatron to aid us, then?" I asked as the chorus came once more, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Aye, in truly dire circumstances. Hear it's ruddy impressive, too."  
  
"Thus having spoke she turned away, and though I found no words to say I stood and watched until I saw her black cloak disappear. My labor is no easier, but now I know I'm not alone -- I find new heart each time I think upon that windy day . . ."  
  
I was tapping my fingers upon the tabletop in time with the music now. I realized that the chorus could be used as a wordless rallying cry and was impressed with whoever came up with the song.  
  
"And if one day she comes to you, drink deeply from her words so wise, take courage from her as your prize, and say hello for me . . ."  
  
"Acknowledging the rest of us," Peter grinned smugly. "See? Code words."  
  
"Good job. But what if he hadn't sung that song?" I asked, watching his smile fade a bit.  
  
The chorus was taken up again and repeated for several rounds, each one more spirited than the one before it.  
  
"How would you know if he was or wasn't friendly to us?" I pressed.  
  
"I suppose you would know, eh?" he asked defensively.  
  
"Actually, I did." I went on to explain what I'd observed that he'd missed.  
  
"Hrm." He fished in his pockets for tobacco and fire. "I suppose that works as well."  
  
I silently wondered if my parents had ever wanted to strangle me during my training, too.  
  
Hours later, as last call was announced for the stragglers in the common room, I deposited a few Marks under my stein and teleported to the back hallway behind the splintered stage, where I watched the singer gather his instruments and room key. I spied his confirmed quarters -- a room in the back next to the outside door -- and teleported inside to wait for him. "Guten abend," I let my voice carry down to him from the ceiling. As expected, he was surprised.  
  
"Who are you?" he demanded, reaching for the light switch.  
  
"No lights," I ordered, catching his wrist easily thanks to my night vision. "I'm looking for an official named Erich Heidelmann. Where will I find him?"  
  
The bard held his hands up so I could see them. "Let go if you want me to talk."  
  
I let go and waited.  
  
"This time of night he's probably with his -ahem- lady friend," he was straightening his rumpled clothing. "Which means he could be anywhere in the city."  
  
"Not good enough," my eyes narrowed.  
  
"That's all you're getting until you tell me who you are and what you want with him." He was looking around for me.  
  
"I'm Sicarii, and he is in possession of something very dear to me."  
  
"You've got to be Nightcrawler. I've heard about you, you know . . . Let's talk like civilized men, shall we?" He reached for the light again. "We've both got her best interests at heart, after all."  
  
I let him get the lights this time. "Whose best interests are those?" My heart was beating faster -- if she'd made a friend here who was trustworthy, this was good.  
  
"Miriam's, of course." He sat at his dressing table and smiled. "But you asked where to find them. They're probably being cultured right now. I understand he's fond of the opera, and the premier of Faust is tonight. After that they'll go someplace private, either his house or her flat."  
  
"Addresses?" I leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed over my chest.  
  
"Don't know hers," he got out a pen and paper, "but this is his." He held out the paper, raising an eyebrow when I retrieved it with my tail. "Be careful when you go after her though. Word on the wire is that inquiries have been made about the unusual-looking second party sighted with her in the States. Don't underestimate what they know about you."  
  
I nodded my thanks and pocketed the address. It was uptown, in a neighborhood that was probably as upscale here as it had been before the Berlin back home had been destroyed. If he had that much money, it probably meant he had many security guards to add to his sense of safety. Getting in there could be difficult, especially if it was just me and Peter. But that wouldn't stop me from spying and following her home.  
  
"Actually, you'll want to head here next," the bard was scribbling on another piece of paper, "and talk to whoever's on duty." He handed this second address to me. "I'm Christopher, by the way. If you need any more information, I'll try to help you. I'm in town for the next two days."  
  
"Thank you, Christopher," I shook hands with him when he offered, then headed out again.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"So you're Nightcrawler."  
  
I smiled tautly at Klaus, noting his smirk. I was in a small room in a dingy apartment downtown, the main broadcasting station the Sicarii used when pirating the radio waves of Berlin. The man Peter and I had come to see after leaving the tavern was one of the broadcasters; he was currently running a tape of the most recent independant news so that he had a minute to talk to us.  
  
"Who's the kid?"  
  
Peter bristled at this; before he could shoot his mouth off I answered, "My apprentice. What was so important that I had to come out here?"  
  
"This." Klaus held up a spool of tape, which he loaded a few minutes later when he was off the air. "You've got the Ministry of Intelligence going nuts, it seems. Too bad you're not the lowest profile assassin we've ever picked up."  
  
I remained stoic as I listened to the intercepted telephone call. A woman was listing off to a man various sightings of me over the past months, in chronological order. Peter kept his mouth shut, but I could see there was a smart comment waiting behind his eyes.  
  
"It gets better for you," Klaus crossed his arms after the tape was finished. "One of our informants in the Ministry tells us they've got video of your hit in Madrid. They know exactly what you look like."  
  
Peter swore under his breath and started fidgeting. I sighed in resignation. I'd hoped to keep that bit to myself for a while longer. But it was bound to happen eventually . . .  
  
"Who was that call between?" I asked instead.  
  
"Erich Heidelmann and his sister."  
  
I drew breath slowly. Peter stopped fidgeting.  
  
"Can you get us a copy of that tape?" Peter asked.  
  
"Yeah, sure. I assume you want it on a more standard format."  
  
"Aye." Peter nodded. Seeing my tail swishing as I raised an eyebrow at him, he barely explained, "I've got an idea." He turned back to Klaus. "How long will it take?"  
  
Klaus shrugged. "About ten minutes."  
  
"I'll go light a fag while we're waitin', with yer permission?" He barely kept his face straight.  
  
I nodded and watched him head outside.  
  
"Lovely at that age, aren't they?" Klaus laughed once Peter was gone. He was already setting up the equipment.  
  
"Makes me want to rush out and have some of my own," I snorted.  
  
Klaus laughed more softly as he hit record.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"How did it go?" Magda asked when we arrived back at the Cabal.  
  
"The Ministry knows I'm here," I shrugged.  
  
"You look more shaken by that than I thought you might," she said, concern in her eyes.  
  
"Heidelmann knows I'm here."  
  
"Oh." Her eyes went wide; she understood the implications of that. "You'll have to find her quickly, then." Her eyes slid to the ground before she turned to finish folding her clothing.  
  
I watched her curiously. She almost seemed disappointed; but before I could ask her what she was so concerned for, Peter caught both our attentions.  
  
"I'm gonna go find some tape decks. Have fun, kids." He had an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and the tape of the conversation in his hands along with another one he'd bought in a shop on our way home.  
  
I glanced once more at Magdalena before following him. As I was rounding the corner I very nearly ran into Suzanne, who smiled and said she'd just been coming to see me.  
  
"What about?" I inquired.  
  
"Hurry," was all she said as she handed me a slip of paper. Before I could ask what it was about she's moved on to find Magdalena. I unfolded the paper and saw an address written in a neat hand. I recognized it as being in a decent neighborhood in downtown Berlin. I threw a look back over my shoulder, shook my head, and caught up with Peter.  
  
"What are you going to do with those?"  
  
"Way I figger it, yer li'l girl's prob'ly not in th' best o' spirits right now. Might cheer her up if she knows yer comin' f'er." He came to a stop in the common room after making a bee-line for the stereo setup. "Gonna borrow yer radio for a bit, mate," he nodded to the man sitting nearby, who nodded his okay. He didn't seem fazed by me, but I was beginning to notice that few people within the Sicarii did anymore. Word of me hadn't spread just among the Reich's intelligence community; it had spread among us as well. And I have to admit, it was nice to be able to walk around without hearing snide comments uttered when they thought I was out of earshot.  
  
"So that other tape isn't for you, then," I couldn't resist the jab.  
  
"Nope." He started the tapes and lit his smoke. "But it's a good cover if it has to sit around before she hears it. An' b'sides, she reads between th' lines she'll get two messages out o' it."  
  
"You assume I want to send that message," I looked away towards a piece of artwork hanging on the wall to my right.  
  
"If I'm wrong, Magda's back that way," he jerked his head in the direction we'd come from.  
  
I felt my face grow hot but bit my tongue. "How do you intend to get it to her?"  
  
"Still working out th' kinks in tha' one." He exhaled a plume of smoke. "But if the hit on th' Chancellor goes through t'night, there'll likely be a bunch o' gits riotin' in the next 24." He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the master tape to click off. "Figger we can get someone t'drop it off fer us if we ask real nice."  
  
"What part of town?" the man on the couch asked, turning around. He'd been about to leave the room, it seemed.  
  
Peter turned around just after I did. "S'cuse me?" he asked, looking like he forgot the man was there.  
  
"What part of town do you need that delivered to?" he asked again.  
  
I told the man the neighborhood and he smiled. "I know someone who lives out there. Get me the address and we'll see it makes it there."  
  
"Danke," I smiled, "Where can I find you again?"  
  
"I'll be around. I'm off duty tonight, and I like a good show," he gestured to the radio.  
  
I copied down the address from the slip of paper Suz had just given me and handed it to him. He lingered for a minute while Peter rewound the disguised tape, taking it with a smile and a nod. "I'll get this taken care of right now," he left the room with purpose.  
  
I crossed my arms and stared after him.  
  
"Wot?" Peter looked me up and down, noticing what must have been a disturbed look on my face.  
  
"Suzanne's abilities freak me out sometimes, that's all," I answered quietly.  
  
I heard Peter take a drag before he replied, "So, you the pot, or the kettle?" He hummed a familiar wordless tune as he walked away to finish his smoke in peace.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
* The song is "Lady in Black" by Uriah Heep. Pick up their anthology titled "Blood on Stone" and it's the last track on disc 2. That one is a live version from 1979; hear it and you'll know exactly what the tavern sounded like.  
  
TheDarkIsRising: Yup, from Miriam talking in her sleep. And yeah, I expect they'll be quite awkward around one another from here on out.  
  
ConnArtist: Glad you're enjoying the story. Let me know when you get this far. :)  
  
Silvergryffin: Here you go. :) 


	20. Nightcrawler

"That's . . . by Allah . . ."  
  
Magdalena wasn't the only one who was horrified by the news. She, like several others in the briefing, showed visible signs of her repulsion.  
  
I wondered if it was possible to be too jaded - my first reaction was to compare it to the Atrocity Zones and dismiss the Nazis as amateurs.  
  
"It's meant to draw me out," I sighed, looking over each person in the room. "They know I'm here, and they know I can teleport."  
  
"And you're big publicity. There's nothing the SS would love more than to be able to display your remains as a public attraction and sign of their ability to protect the populace." Marius sighed heavily; as head of the Berlin Cabal, he would be expected to do something to help the hundreds of Jews held captive in the maze of tunnels under the streets. "I hate to say this, but we'll need you to help rescue those people."  
  
I shrugged, my tail weaving absently behind me. "You know it will be a trap. How do you plan to go about this? I'm not invincible, and I can't teleport everyone out. That's impossible."  
  
"You could get us inside, then we could break them out from within," a young man whose name I did not know suggested.  
  
"Possibly," I nodded, "but what will we use to free them? Explosives? In such a confined area we could kill the people we're trying to save."  
  
"The whole area is heavily guarded," one of the spies by the name of Jonathan supplied. "Just getting there with enough of our people to help will be a damn sight. We won't have the luxury of time to extract even a handful of them."  
  
"So wot are ye suggestin'?" Peter's accent was a sharp contrast to Jonathan's, despite their shared British heritage. "Leave 'em there t'rot? Sorry mates, couldn' be 'elped?"  
  
"I'm suggesting nothing of the sort," Jonathan answered the accusation. "But I, unfortunately, do not have an answer to our dilemma."  
  
"There are Elders here, aren't there?" Magdalena leaned forward in her chair, her hands clasped in front of her. "Perhaps one of them could invoke the Metatron for this."  
  
I glanced at Suzanne, who had gone rigid with apprehension. She remained silent, however.  
  
"No one has invoked her within this lifetime, and with good reason," Marius answered. "So far there has been no one capable of withstanding her powers."  
  
"I'm not talking about a sustained possession," Magda countered. "Merely a momentary invocation, just long enough to gather everyone and get them to safety."  
  
"Even the legends do not tell of so large an exodus," Mathias, an aging Priest, spoke. "The largest was of a group of fifty. There are hundreds of people to be saved. Such a feat would surely drive insane anyone who managed to live through it."  
  
"What exactly is so dangerous about this Metatron that people go mad from her?" I addressed him directly.  
  
"The Metatron's powers are great," Mathias' gaze was curious. "She is not of this world, and is tasked with guarding the whole of creation. Her mind becomes linked with that of whomever dares invoke her, and rare indeed is the cleric with the capacity to hold their own mind together once she departs from them. It is not the possession that is dangerous, but the reversal."  
  
"But there have been people able to handle it." I nibbled on the tip of my tail, a gesture of physical distraction I tended to employ when deep in thought.  
  
"Yes, long ago, between two and three generations removed from us."  
  
Suzanne was shifting uncomfortably now; I pretended to not notice this. "How do you know when you've found one? Trial and error?"  
  
"By god, no!" Mathias was taken aback. "Only those who already display an increased aptitude for the occult are considered, and then they must consent to an invocation. We cannot force anyone to take the Metatron, nor would she take possession of someone without their knowledge and blessing, so far as we can tell."  
  
"There isn't anyone who can do it; why are we wasting time talking about it?" the man with the idea of breaking them out from within asked.  
  
I glanced from him, to Mathias, to Suzanne. She flinched under my eyes.  
  
"She's just a child!" Marius was aghast. "Everyone who has ever invoked Metatron has been an adult, at least in their thirties. What you suggest is madness!"  
  
"When were you first able to see things, Suzanne?" I crouched beside her, keeping my voice as gentle as I could.  
  
"I can't do this, Nightcrawler," her voice was strained and barely above a whisper. "I've not had any training. I'm too young."  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
"Twenty."  
  
"Hardly a child, I'd think." I barely smiled. "You started manifesting your gifts in your early teens, ja?"  
  
"Yes," she whispered. "Why does that matter?"  
  
"Have you ever been wrong?" Everyone was staring at us; I ignored them and tried to keep Suz's attention on me alone.  
  
"No."  
  
"And when you try to use it, it gets stronger?"  
  
She nodded, licking her lips nervously.  
  
"That's how it was with my gifts. One day I was just an ugly kid, the next I was suddenly a god among men. And it's scary, I know." I sighed as memories began to parade through my mind. "It's a lot of responsibility. Having that much power can seem overwhelming, and it will be if you let it control your life."  
  
She was curled into a ball now, trying to hide from what I said. "But what I can do is nothing like what you're capable of. How can you compare it like this?"  
  
I looked to the ceiling for a moment, choosing my words so that they would sound more appealing to her. "Where I came from, the range of abilities was very broad. I worked with a woman who could read thoughts and move things with her mind and two men who could knit their bodies to repair wounds in seconds. The leader of my resistance there could pull the metal from the earth with a wave of his hand. His wife could fly, was bulletproof, and could literally bury a man into the ground with one punch. I fought alongside one person who could control the weather, and another who could touch things and make their atoms vibrate so violently that they exploded. And when children were found who could do all these wondrous things, a man who could make himself into metal and a woman who could take his hand and make him so light he could walk on molecules taught those children how to master the gifts God gave them at birth, but turned on as they began to grow into adults. You are like I am, and as they were. You are more powerful than you or anyone else has given you credit for, Suzanne."  
  
Her eyes were wide and watery now. When she spoke, her voice was a choked whisper. "But there has been no one to teach me. And even if there were, I don't think I can do what you're asking me to do."  
  
"Doubt is the poison that holds us down, and fear the mind killer. Let me teach you. Just for today. And then you can decide for yourself if you are ready to try."  
  
The silence in the room was tense. It seemed like everyone was holding their breath. After several minutes of silent debate, Suzanne nodded and uncurled herself from the tangle of limbs she's contorted herself into. "Okay," she said quietly. "I am willing to learn what you can teach me."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Teaching Suzanne was more difficult than I thought it would be. Peter was easy - he already knew a surprising amount about how to kill people or disable them using his preferred weapons, and his tactics would not be far removed from mine when all was said and done. Working on something concrete and tangible was much easier for me than walking someone through how to use a mutant power they'd never explored before. I suddenly had a lot more respect for what Piotre and Kat did with their lives . . .  
  
"You mean you've just allowed your power to happen to you? You've never played with it before?" I blinked in surprise.  
  
"No. It scares me . . . so much of it is overwhelming to me." She suddenly seemed like a child instead of the aloof woman I'd known before. "When it happens, it isn't just a vague notion of what will happen. I see it. I taste and smell and hear everything. It's like what's going to happen is already happening when I see it."  
  
"How do you know when it's your ability, then?"  
  
"It's . . . overlaid somehow. Like a photograph that has been double exposed. I see what's going on at that moment in a more solid way, and what will happen on top of it in a more transparent way. But it's just as real to me as everything else." She looked down to fiddle with the hem of her blouse.  
  
"Hmm." I nodded. "Is this the only 'strange' thing you can do?"  
  
Suzanne blushed. "Sometimes it's almost like I can hear what people are thinking. There have even been a few times when I'll answer someone, and they'll look at me oddly and tell me they hadn't said anything." She kept fingering her clothing. "And I seem to be very sensitive to what people are feeling. If someone is very upset or angry, I become sick to my stomach. When people around me are afraid, I become skittish. When they're happy, it feels like I'm wrapped in a big blanket, it's very warm somehow." She continued in a low voice, "You gave off a very interesting combination when you asked me about Miriam."  
  
Now I was blushing. "Es tut mir leid."  
  
"It's okay," she shrugged. "You didn't know . . ."  
  
"Well, where to start with you . . ." I trailed off for a moment. "Do you know what common factors the others who have accepted Metatron had? What gifts they shared?"  
  
"They all seemed to be in tune with what people were feeling and thinking, from what I've been told. They're described in the legends as compassionate and giving people, but also as a little loopy. They made people nervous."  
  
"Let's work on that, then. Go ahead and clear your mind." She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to do this; I made my mind a blank slate almost effortlessly, the result of Jean's work on telepathic shielding. "Now," my voice was soft, "what am I thinking about?"  
  
Silence for a moment, then, "There's a small house, a cottage, really . . . mountains nearby, but I can't see them. Trees, a forest. It's sunny outside, and warm . . . birds are singing to one another . . . you're looking at a woman with blue skin and red hair and eyes like yours. She's sitting under a tree with a book. She's happy. You've come to her with a large person, someone you respect. He has blonde hair and brown eyes and - and claws . . ."  
  
I kept my eyes steady and the picture of my childhood in my mind as she started at dad's description. "What else, Suzanne? What else am I thinking?"  
  
"You're so small next to him, but you're also very happy. You and he just returned from the river. You caught a lot of fish today, enough for the rest of the week. Your father is proud of you, and you're happy that he's proud. You've come to show your mother the good job you did. You know she'll be proud, too."  
  
I let the memory drop. Suzanne's eyes fluttered open and she blinked a few times.  
  
"Was I right?" She licked her lips nervously.  
  
"On every detail," I smiled. "How do you feel?"  
  
"I have a headache all of a sudden," she blinked a few times.  
  
I reached over to the table nearby and handed her the bottle of aspirin. "I thought you might. That's normal, when you first start to try using them."  
  
She smiled wanly and downed a few pills. "Should we keep going?"  
  
"If you're up for it," I answered. She nodded her assent so I tried a different angle.  
  
"Oh, no pictures this time?" she bit her lip.  
  
I kept quiet except for the thoughts I focused upon.  
  
"You are only coming through in waves," her voice lilted with the melody I remembered. "Your lips move, but I can't her what you're saying . . ." She broke off abruptly with a laugh. "What an odd song!"  
  
"What?" I asked innocently.  
  
She tilted her head and looked at me curiously. "What was the fleeting glimpse of?"  
  
"I understand he did a lot of drugs. Could have been anything." I mused that she should have seen the movie the way I had -- high on pot and drinking a beer.  
  
"Why do you need to be stoned while watching it?" she asked.  
  
I grinned. "I didn't say anything."  
  
Her eyes grew wide. "I'm sorry!"  
  
"Don't be!" I laughed, delighted. "That's a good sign . . . Ready for another one?"  
  
"Sure," she smiled shyly.  
  
"Your telepathy probably goes both ways-"  
  
"What's telepathy?"  
  
"Talking with thoughts. It should go both ways," I continued. "Try sending me something now."  
  
"Um, okay . . ." She frowned a little bit before closing her eyes again.  
  
I lowered my mental shields and saw what she was sharing. "You're in a very large room, the windows are open to the air and the curtains are billowing out in the breeze . . ." I narrowed my eyes as though that would help me somehow. "There is a desk, and oil paintings on the walls. Lots of books behind the desk, and a leather chair. The man sitting there is not happy with you." I frowned; she was also sending her emotions with the memory. "You didn't mean to scare your brother like that, but you don't understand why your father is so upset. He is saying something to you in French . . ." The scene faltered for a moment while she translated for me. My eyes grew wide at what was said. "Ach, Suzanne . . ."  
  
The scene faded as she stopped broadcasting. She sniffed and looked off to a corner of the room, biting her lip. "He threw me out after that. He thought I was a disgrace to the family."  
  
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. I hadn't expected her to share something so personal with me. We sat quietly for a moment.  
  
"Ready for another go?" she asked once she was calm again. I said I was, and she wasted no time in sending me something else.  
  
We practiced her telepathy for another hour or so, took a break, and went on to her empathic ability. She was able several times to combine them - unintentionally at first, then later in the evening she could do it at will. When we broke for dinner she thanked me telepathically for the lessons.  
  
"Do you feel more confident with them now?"  
  
"Yes, I do." She smiled at me. "It's been . . . educational."  
  
I certainly thought it had been. I'd only shared more of my background with Miriam in this world . . . but Suzanne had shared quite a bit as well. As I contemplated this I realized I wasn't uncomfortable around her anymore. I also realized that as weirded out as I'd been with her, most everyone else probably felt that way about me.  
  
"Not everyone," Suzanne smiled, half-formed thoughts of girl talk with Magdalena dancing across my synapses.  
  
I looked sharply over my shoulder at her as I slammed down the mental defenses I should have put back up right away. Maybe she "heard" them go down - she had a shocked look on her face as soon as they were in place again.  
  
"What?" she asked nervously.  
  
I looked ahead again and said just loud enough for her to hear, "I don't want details on what you two discussed, do I?"  
  
Suzanne hesitated. "No, you probably don't," she finally answered.  
  
"How did it go?" Mathias was waiting for us in the dining room, an anxious look on his face.  
  
"Really well!" Suz beamed at him.  
  
I excused myself from the conversation on the premise that there was sure to be religious aspects to discuss that I shouldn't be in on. Minutes later I was sitting at one end of a half-occupied table to eat, Peter sitting across from me with a plate of his own.  
  
"Ye look funny. Y'okay, mate?" Peter chewed and swallowed something as he studied me.  
  
I nodded and stirred my coffee. "Ja, I'm just tired."  
  
"Yeah, okay," he saw through my excuse but knew better than to pry. We ate in silence and when we were done I turned in early, desperate for some time to myself. I fell asleep on my bed in my clothes, thinking of everything I could to get the snatches of Magda's repeated words out of my head.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Coolness Points will be awarded to anyone who knows who/what Nightcrawler is quoting during his "Fear is the mind killer" bits in this and the next chapter. I'll give proper credit in chapter 23. The song Kurt was thinking about was, of course, Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" from The Wall.  
  
TheDarkIsRising: I'm wearing asbestos armor as I write this, because I'm sure you're shooting flaming daggers at me over the continuing suspense. *evil grin*  
  
Tiggit: Welcome to the party! What's wrong with your spelling? And yeah, this is a very different version of everyone's favorite fuzzy elf. I remember reading that when they were coming up with the character sketches for the AoA X-Men, they decided to go with the original idea of Nightcrawler being a bitter and brooding person, which they kind of scrapped for the more swashbuckling, religious Kurt we're more familiar with from the regular series of comics. If any of the Pros ever read this, I'd hope they think I do the idea justice.  
  
Marithra: No need to worry. I'm writing on it, even if I'm not able to post right away. This story's not getting rubbish-binned anytime in the future. As for a Kurt/Erich confrontation, it's already written. Probably be up in two chapters or so. 


	21. Nightcrawler

We were walking through the sewage systems underneath Berlin early the next morning. Our group was small to minimize casualties. The way Marius figured it, we wouldn't need more than we had if the plan succeeded and if it didn't, it was a lesser loss to the Sicarii. Peter had insisted on coming with me; we were joined by one of Jonathan's spies, two other assassins for crowd control, Suzanne, and Mathias. The idea was very simple: the spy would show us the way, Peter and the assassins would keep the Nazis busy, and I would teleport the two clerics into the makeshift prison. Once we were in Mathias would walk Suz through the incantation one last time and ideally she would be able to get us all out of there and back to headquarters.  
  
"There, just past the upcoming bend in the tunnels," our guide whispered to us. "There were about thirty guards stationed last night. Good luck to you."  
  
The man slipped away, backtracking our route. I looked over the small group. "Ready?"  
  
"Aye," Peter nodded, his sentiment shared by everyone else.  
  
"Let's go." We'd agreed before hand that I would give them the diversion they were probably expecting, and that once they realized we were there I would 'port back and grab the Clergy. I bamfed into their midst, swords at the ready, and killed a handful right off the bat. "Lovely morning, gentlemen!" I grinned as I kept them looking around and guessing. They began shouting orders at one another, their instructions becoming more frenzied as my backup arrived. Once they were all engaged, I bounded from the battle to the shelter provided by the curve in the sewer tunnels, grabbed Suz and Mathias by their arms, and bamfed us into the middle of a crowd of very shocked captives.  
  
"Okay, everyone. Please, settle down . . ." Mathias was addressing the group, quieting them to explain what it was we intended to do. I ignored the staring and gaping of those immediately able to see me in favor of watching Suzanne work. She looked very nervous, so I walked over and spoke quietly to her.  
  
"Fear is the mind killer," I kept my voice firm and steady but calm enough so that she could still concentrate on her spell. "Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear," I now noticed that she'd begun standing taller and was tilting her face towards the streets above us. "I will permit it to pass over me and through me," I continued quoting. The air around me grew very warm very quickly, and I could barely see a reddish glow surrounding her. "And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path." The glow grew stronger as she raised her hands above her head. "Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."  
  
I jumped back when the fire burst forth from her, my eyes wide with shocked concern. I quickly realized that the fire wasn't consuming her, however. It merely seemed to be dancing around her. She lowered her arms, dropped her gaze back to our plane, and then glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the battle raging without. She wordlessly extended a hand towards the newly erected brick wall, turning it into melted slag so that she could see past to the fight. Then she sent forth from that same hand a plume of fire that almost looked like a hand and used it to pull our own towards us.  
  
It was singularly the most amazing and destructive and beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I was in awe, complete and total awe - it was a feeling I'd long ago given up for lost. Suzanne extended her arms out to the sides as though inviting a huge group hug and in response the fire around her grew and expanded to encompass us all. The resulting heat began melting the bricks around us and as the Nazis looked on in a mixture of disbelief, fear, and astonishment they began to become trapped in the lava. Some of them noticed this before the bubbling remains of the walls reached them; they were still of mind enough to begin running. I missed the looks on the faces of the ones who couldn't run; a tongue of flame wrapped around me and covered the whole of my vision in a collage of reds and oranges. The warmth was surprisingly pleasant to me, but before I could actually register this thought I was being unwrapped from the fire and saw the Cabal's common room before me.  
  
I took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, astonished to see that all of the captives as well as all of the Sicarii seemed to have been transported alive and intact. I turned to find Suzanne, intending to compliment her on a job well done, when I saw the flames shrink back into the red glow. It faded quickly, the last remnants visible in her eyes, an eerie flicker of supernatural power that faded into smoke as though it were a snuffed candle.  
  
"Oh, shit!" one of the assassins barely caught her as she began to fall. Her eyes had rolled back and she'd begun convulsing once the Metatron left her; Mathias was there in an instant, barking orders and calling over any available priest or priestess to help him tend to her. I was pushed away as was everyone else, so all I could do was watch as they carried her away to another part of the Cabal and hope she would survive.  
  
"I've only got two words t'say 'bout wot just 'appened," Peter's voice came from my left side. "Bloody . . . fookin' . . . 'ell."  
  
I nodded my agreement slowly, the excited chatter of the crowd reduced to so much meaningless static.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The rest of my morning and most of my afternoon were taken up with the assigned task of processing our new friends. All five hundred and eighty- two of them. I had help of course, but it was still a trying job to undertake. Families were gathered back together, names taken down and recorded, interviews conducted to determine who among them wished to join the Sicarii now that they had nowhere else to go. Compounding the difficulty of it was the fact that many of them had heard of me before today and wanted to meet me. Each new recruit who had to talk to me about the contributions they could bring with them had to endure delays each time someone wanted to shake my hand, or thank me for answering their prayers, or any other manifestation of such nonsense. I ate my lunch without taking a break for it, gulping down bites of bread and pirated luncheon meat between questions.  
  
"How many in your party?" Chomp, chew, swallow.  
  
"Five," the man answered.  
  
I looked up and noted a wife and three kids. "Any formal training in combat practices?" Chomp, chew, swallow.  
  
"Not unless you count bar fights."  
  
I marked down a No. "Any trade skills?"  
  
"I have skills as a carpenter. I've also done a bit of plumbing in my time, too."  
  
I wrote this down as well. "See Aemelie next," I pointed to the girl next down the line from me, handing the man the paper I'd just been writing on. "She'll assign you to your sleeping quarters."  
  
"Thank you," he tried to hide his interest in my deformities as he took the file from me. I said nothing about it, as it was so frequent that it wasn't worth wasting the energy to comment on. I must have seen that not-discreet- enough glance a million times already today; it was all I could do to keep from being overtly rude to them at this point. I turned my attention to the next person coming my way and readied another sheet, trying to ignore the whining voice of the last man's smallest child. He was no more than three - that annoying age when everything is me me me, now now now.  
  
"Stop crying, Uwe. We'll get to eat soon," he'd picked up the child to try to sooth him, but to no avail. The child kept crying, complaining that his tummy hurt from being empty for so long.  
  
My mistake was looking up to glare at them for not keeping the boy quiet. He was red-faced and wet with tears, and staring with undisguised hunger at the remaining half of my lunch. I forced myself to look back at my papers, to ask another question, but couldn't get through half the answer before my guilt consumed me. It wasn't like I didn't know what it was like to be a starving child; that one winter outside of Karlsruhe, when the famine killed off the game and the surrounding towns and villages were so eager to kill me and mom and dad that they were sending scouting parties into the mountains after us, had left us all the worst for the wear. I was not much older than this boy, six years old then, and so malnourished by the time Spring came that I'd begun to develop Scurvy.  
  
"Here," I sighed, reaching over to the next line with my tail, holding the food up to the boy. His father looked at me with surprise and asked if I were sure. "Ja, I'm sure." I felt Uwe's little fingers brush against my tail as he took the sandwich from me. He took a tentative bite, nibbling at the bologna before taking a larger bite that silenced his crying. "I was there once, too."  
  
"God bless you, sir," Uwe's mother smiled at me. "You'll be in my prayers tonight."  
  
I caught sight of the star around her neck and smiled tightly. "Kein problem. Good luck to you."  
  
I finally got a break from the processing duties at about six o'clock. I retreated to my private quarters to have an undisturbed stretch, pulling as many of the kinks and knots out of my frame as I could. Then I threw my clothes to a corner of the floor and headed for the shower. I'd been given the rest of the night off - probably because Marius recognized I'd kill someone if I had to endure one more kid grabbing my tail to see if I was as fuzzy as I looked - but I was too anxious to waste the time listening to the radio programs or gambling at cards or dice. I'd been dying to see Miriam. My stomach flip-flopped as I thought about her. Was she hurt? Was she ill? Suzanne had said she'd never been wrong in her premonitions, and I still remembered her disquieting comment about how I'd wish she were dead when I found her. I couldn't imagine wishing for her death . . .  
  
Just what had Suz seen?  
  
I pushed the thoughts away forcefully. I had NOT come all this way to just give up on her. No matter what happened, I could never wish her to be gone like that. Not even if she changed her mind, said the Nazis were swell guys, and she didn't want to come with me. No, I'd arrive at her home and take her away with me and, with luck, the affection she'd hinted at before would still be there. At the very least she'd be free to do as she wished.  
  
I had just finished dressing and was brushing my teeth when Peter slipped in, heading for the bathroom with the same intent as I'd had earlier.  
  
"Goin' out ta th' club t'night, eh?" he called over the running water.  
  
"If that's what you call downtown apartments," I hollered back. "I'm going after Miriam tonight. Since you've been bothering me incessantly about her all this time, I suppose you can tag along if you want."  
  
"Right generous of yeh, Guv'nuh," he answered as the room filled with steam again. "Aye'm 'onored."  
  
I rolled my eyes, spat one last time into the sink, and sat on my bed to wait for him. I was disturbed moments later by the sound of someone rapping on my door.  
  
"It never ends," I mumbled as I got up to answer. Magda was waiting on the other side, a small smile on her face at the sight of me. I slipped out into the hallway to find out what she wanted.  
  
"I heard about your lunch," her smile grew a bit wider. "That was very sweet of you to do."  
  
"How is Suzanne doing?" I changed the subject before it had time to grow legs. The look in Magda's eyes made me uncomfortable; it was too soft somehow.  
  
Magda's smile became strained. "We're not sure yet. She's not dead, so I suppose that's at least a little promising. She's in a coma though, from the looks of things."  
  
I sighed heavily and looked at the ground. I had been afraid that she wouldn't be able to handle it. If there had been time, if it had been up to me, she would have been trained sooner, she wouldn't have been thrown into this . . . but on the other hand, she'd known the risk she was taking. She'd decided she was ready to take it on. No one had twisted her arm, no one had said she had to go in and free all those people. If there wasn't a way to do it, it would have been seen as a terrible but regretful loss. No blame would have been passed on her or anyone else.  
  
I groaned inwardly when it finally hit me that if Suz died from the experience, my political dealings around here would become very unstable. Especially if I brought in mouth number 583 to feed tonight.  
  
"It's not your fault," Magdalena said quietly, studying me carefully. "You saw a solution and tried to help implement it. That's part of your job."  
  
"I know," I sighed.  
  
The door opened and Peter emerged, freshly scrubbed and, for once, looking half-way presentable. "Ready whenever yeh are, fearless leader."  
  
"Oh! You're going out?" Magda's wide eyes blinked.  
  
"Well, I did stop in Berlin with an end in mind," I reminded her, my unease growing as her face fell a little before she caught herself. "There's not another crisis in the works, is there?"  
  
"No," she blushed a little. "I just - never mind." She turned a deeper shade of red. "I'll see you when you get back." She forced a smile and walked quickly down the hall and away from us.  
  
I took a deep breath as I watched her retreating form. This only fed my growing suspicions, and I didn't like those suspicions in the least.  
  
"I give it 'bout two days," Peter shook his head. He was watching her too. "An' I get t' charge admission. Yeh'll get a cut, o' course, seein' as 'ow yer th' prize an' all."  
  
I turned to look at him, noting the way he tried with all his might to keep the smirk from growing into a full grin.  
  
"Shut up," I sighed. "For once, just shut up."  
  
"Woteveh yeh say, Guv'neh."  
  
I ignored it when the choked laughter came a half a minute later.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
My heart was pounding as I turned the last corner before my destination, my thoughts veering off in a million different directions. Only one thing was in focus: Miriam was alive and I'd be with her again soon. The butterflies assaulted my stomach once more and I tried to keep them at bay. Only a few meters more and we'd be there . . .  
  
I looked up at the windows, counting them to match the blueprints I'd seen earlier of her building. There, that balcony had to be hers. I willed myself to the underside of the balcony above hers and peeked inside. Ach, she was changing out of her clothes - that had started a nasty fight once before; I wasn't about to pick that fight twice. I waited a few moments before peeking in again. She was in a different dress now. I swallowed nervously, went back to the street for Peter, and teleported us inside.  
  
The expression on her face when she turned the corner to investigate the sudden noise in her previously empty apartment shifted rapidly from shock to delighted surprise. I felt faint with relief when she rushed me to throw herself into my arms, burying her face in my neck and telling me she was glad I was safe. She was happy to see me . . . I inhaled her scent as I held her tightly, never wanting to let her go.  
  
This was it. I'd finally found her. She seemed okay - no injuries, no sign of illness - and my emotions soared again. She was okay! We were going to be okay. We pulled apart a few minutes later and I introduced her to Peter. To my surprise he had nothing smart-assed to say, just shook her hand and even went so far as to call her "ma'am". But all the rest could wait, the catching up and the story I'd surely have to tell to satisfy the burning curiosity in her eyes when I mentioned the word "apprentice"; I told her we'd head back as soon as she grabbed a few things to take with her.  
  
Then the bomb dropped.  
  
"What do you mean you've been marked? By whom?" I was suddenly very apprehensive. Whoever it was had obviously scared her.  
  
"Have you heard of the Sicarii?" she asked in a small voice.  
  
Peter and I looked at one another, comprehension hitting us both at the same time. 


	22. Miriam

Erich was in a particularly good mood the next evening as we sat down to dinner. I was not nearly so cheerful; I'd pieced together over the course of the day what the retribution for the Chancellor's death had been. While many of the Jews attacked in last night's pogrom had been left alive, they'd also been left homeless. Rather than risk the consequences of being on the streets past curfew, many of them went underground to seek shelter in the sewers. There they were met by Sicarii - or who they thought were Sicarii - and gathered together in a central location that was then closed off and bricked up. If they didn't suffocate first, they would eventually starve to death.  
  
I was picking at my food not out of solidarity for the poor people trapped below my feet (as they must have been at some point in the day - I didn't know exactly where under Berlin they were), but because I knew this wasn't the end of it. There was more to this punishment . . .  
  
"Are you not feeling well, my dear?" Erich asked me kindly after my third strained attempt at eating some of the food on my plate. "I notice your appetite has not been good these last few weeks."  
  
"Oh . . ." I felt my lips tremble when I tried to smile. "I just have a lot on my mind, that's all. It seems like Berlin is in chaos these past few weeks and, well, I'm a little bit frightened."  
  
"Ah," he nodded, "I understand, especially after what happened with your window." He ate another forkful of vegetables, markedly more calm than I. "The repair man has already come, hasn't he?"  
  
"Yes, he has," I forced down a bit of veal. My nightmares had me running for the toilet almost every morning now, and I'd only begun to realize that certain foods made me feel more ill than others. Meat was one of them. I didn't have a taste for it, but taking the consequences for it seemed better than getting into a discussion about why I wasn't hungry these days. I forced another bite and chased it with some roasted potatoes.  
  
"That's good. It's barbaric for that to have happened in your neighborhood, though. Utterly appalling."  
  
But not at all disgraceful that it happened to any other people in the city. I stabbed another potato with my fork and felt a wicked thrill at the idea of substituting Erich for my food. If only I could get away with it . . . I envisioned stringing Erich up somewhere and borrowing one of Nightcrawler's swords. I'd make him suffer, make him pay for being the swine in a dress suit that he was. What was it Elizabeth had said months ago? Stick it to him for every time he sticks it to me? That's what I'd do alright, use him as a practice dummy while Nightcrawler taught me how to wield his blades. And I'd save the best part for last, really make him suffer for all he'd put me through. And when I was finally through with him, it'd be time to move on to his sister . . .  
  
"Well, I'm glad to see you've finally regained your appetite," Erich's voice broke into my reverie. I looked down and saw that almost all of the food was gone now. I was trying to think of something to say when he continued in a tone of voice I'd never heard with him before, "What were you thinking about, Miriam?"  
  
"I'm afraid I can't repeat it in polite company," I blushed. Even in impolite company it wasn't generally considered good form to discuss disembowelment and castration at the dinner table.  
  
"We're not in polite company, Miriam," Erich continued in a hushed tone, leaning forward to look into my eyes. "I'm captivated by the look that was in your eyes just now. It was so . . . primal. So raw. I want to know what you were thinking about."  
  
"I'd rather not," I whispered, my blush deepening.  
  
"You're too closed to me," Erich had moved his chair so that he was sitting next to me now. He cupped my jaw in his hand and turned my head so that I had to look over and up at him. "There is more to you than you've chosen to show me. I want to know you, Miriam. All of you, not just the pretty parts."  
  
Well, there weren't any pretty parts that he'd not explored by this point, I reflected bitterly. But he wasn't going to give up . . . I'd better come up with something quickly. "I was thinking about the monster from Madrid," I purred, looking deeply back into his eyes.  
  
"Oh now, why the concern?" Erich's eyes betrayed a dangerous sort of amusement in their depths.  
  
"It's here, isn't it?" I focused on matching his gaze with equal intensity, on smiling as he traced the line of my lower lip with his thumb. "That's why all those Jews are boxed up underground, to trap it?"  
  
"Are you afraid it will come after you?" His eyes bored into mine, something behind them shifting as the balance of power trembled under our feet.  
  
I realized I was suddenly on terribly unstable ground.  
  
"Why should it?" I darted my tongue out to taste his finger. "Are you worried that it's coming for you next, Erich?"  
  
"I'm worried that it might try to steal you away from me," he leaned in to kiss me, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, his fingers rubbing lightly over the general area of my unwanted tracker. "But I won't let that happen," he whispered into my ear with a cool confidence that had me suppressing a shiver. "Do you know why that is, Miriam?"  
  
"Why?" I whispered back, heart racing with sudden fear.  
  
"Because as lenient as I have been with you, you are still my property. And I am intensely possessive of my belongings." He moved back to look me in the eyes again, his hand still on the back of my neck, his lips less than a centimeter from mine. I decided that the calculating gleam in his eyes wasn't a good sign. "And I would kill before I let anyone steal away with you."  
  
Erich slid away, a sly smile on his face, when his butler appeared discreetly at the dining room door. Erich's icy façade melted and he gestured for the man to clear our places so desert could be brought out.  
  
"I understand that we've got a strawberry tart waiting for us tonight. You like strawberries, don't you, Miriam?" He sipped some wine and smiled genially at me.  
  
"Strawberries are nice," I licked my lips and took a long pull of alcohol from my own glass.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I was sick again that night, the food I'd wolfed down earlier too much for my body to handle. As my insides tried to escape my body I considered that I might do well to arrange for a doctor's visit to make sure nothing was physically wrong with me, to make sure it was just stress. I began ticking off possible diseases and ailments as I brushed my teeth. Could be food poisoning - but for three weeks straight? If it were I'd probably be dead now. If I were ill with something, I'd probably have other symptoms with the vomiting. But what if I was -  
  
The sudden explosion and scent of sulfur in the air had me spinning around and running to the living room faster than I thought I could possibly move. My heart skipped a beat when I realized I wasn't hallucinating.  
  
He was here.  
  
Nightcrawler was finally here.  
  
"Oh, thank God you're okay!!" I fairly leapt up to embrace him, my emotions in a flux between laughing with joy and weeping at the bitter irony of the circumstances. For now, I was going to go with the joy.  
  
"Das Gefuehl ist gegenseitig, liebchen," ["The feeling is mutual, sweetheart,"] he murmured in my ear, holding me so tightly that he nearly winded me.  
  
We held each other for a long moment during which I enjoyed the feel of his arms around me and his tail moving against my back, the pointed tip playing in my hair. I nuzzled against him, my cheek rubbing against his, a velvety touch I'd sorely missed. He nuzzled me in return, his breath and lips warm against my neck and just below my ear.  
  
"I'm truly surprised," came the quiet voice with the coarse British accent once we'd stopped hugging. "I knew ye had a soft spot f'r 'er, but I didn' think it was that soft."  
  
I'd seen the boy when I'd come into the living room, but had ignored him in favor of greeting Nightcrawler. Now I looked him over, wondering who he was. He was young but had eyes that were far too old for him - they were hazel and edged in razors. His brown hair was disheveled, his clothes a little tattered and stained in several places. He stood with one arm crossed across his chest, the other up so that his fingers were curled loosely and against his mouth now that he was done speaking. I noticed the assortment of daggers sheathed on his belt and wondered if he were old enough to know how to use them properly.  
  
"Contrary to the opinions of many, I am not an inhuman monster," Nightcrawler replied, his voice equally quiet.  
  
"I didn' say tha', now, did I?" the boy smiled behind his hand, almost succeeding in hiding the growing smirk.  
  
"Who . . . ?" I began hesitantly.  
  
"Miriam, this is my apprentice, Peter Evans," Nightcrawler stepped aside so we could see each other better. "Peter, this is Miriam Shaham."  
  
Peter and I shook hands; I noticed a flicker of surprise in Nightcrawler's eyes at this. It was almost as though he didn't expect the boy to be civil.  
  
"A right pleasure t' finally meet yeh, ma'am," Peter nodded as he clasped my hand.  
  
"We can talk more later," Nightcrawler barely contained his grin. "Let's get some of your things together and get out of here."  
  
My heart plummeted to my feet. I wanted so much to go with him, but the Sicarii weren't enemies I wanted to make. "I can't," I winced when I saw the shock come over both their faces. "I - I've been marked."  
  
"By whom?" Nightcrawler's voice held a dangerous note in it.  
  
"Have you heard of the Sicarii?" I asked quietly.  
  
The look that passed between Nightcrawler and Peter gave me goose bumps, it was so loaded.  
  
"Yes, we have," Nightcrawler finally answered. "What exactly do you mean, you've been marked by them?"  
  
"She's the informant in the Ministry," Peter's voice was dull, his face slack, the razor edges in his eyes dulled a bit.  
  
"Yes," I nodded. "I've been . . . persuaded to provide information to one of their spies. They implanted me with a tracker so that they know where I am all the time. They told me if I ran, they'd hunt me down and kill me."  
  
"When did this happen?" Nightcrawler didn't look too well either.  
  
"Less than a week ago. The night they executed the Chancellor."  
  
I wasn't the only one who noticed the horrified look on Nightcrawler's face. Peter's eyes were hard again, his voice dripping acid when he spoke.  
  
"That little Sidhe-spawn was too vague, wasn't she?" he spat, eyes narrowing.  
  
"Or I'm too verdammt schwer von Begriff [damned dense]," Nightcrawler closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "Did they say anything about why they chose to peg you?"  
  
"Not really," I laid my hand over his and squeezed his fingers. "The only thing they said was they were tipped off by someone called The Ghost."  
  
I wasn't sure, but I thought I could hear a growl come from deep in his throat.  
  
"Yeh've got tha' look like yer about t' hang someone by their entrails," Peter pointed out. "Who's The Ghost?"  
  
"The Ghost is a ship, not a person," his tail coiled behind him like a snake preparing to strike. "But I know exactly who tipped them off. And if I ever see her again, she'd better hope that's the least I'll do to her for this."  
  
I grimaced and looked around, suddenly more uncomfortable by an order of magnitude. I'd never seen him so pissed off before, and quite frankly, it was scaring me. "Um," I cleared my throat, "does anyone else want some coffee?" God, that sounded so lame.  
  
"Aye, black fer me, please," Peter answered softly.  
  
"Maybe in a while," Nightcrawler was obviously trying to calm himself; I let go of his hand and went to the kitchen.  
  
I stood with my hands splayed across the countertop, dimly watching the dripping coffee fill the pot. I felt terrible; I had no idea what I'd say when I got back out there.  
  
"I'm sorry, Miriam," Nightcrawler's voice was gentle when he joined me in the kitchen a few minutes later. "I didn't mean to upset you."  
  
I turned and saw that he'd left Peter in the other room so we could talk, the door closed behind him.  
  
"If someone betrayed you, you have a right to be angry," I answered from the counter.  
  
"That's no excuse," he slowly moved towards me, giving me time to move away, I guess. "I'm sorry."  
  
I sighed raggedly and stared bleakly at the floor. "It's so damn unfair," I whispered. "I didn't think you'd come all this way for me, but you have, and now I can't . . ." I trailed off when I felt the tip of his tail gently pushing upwards on my chin, a silent plea for me to look up at him.  
  
"Life isn't fair, liebe," his eyes were sad. "But I think we both learned that a long time ago, nicht wahr?"  
  
My vision got blurry and I felt my lips quivering. When he reached out to brush my cheek with the backs of his fingers I leaned forward into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. As the tears spilled from my closed eyes I felt him fold me in his arms. He was quiet as I sobbed, his only answer to my grief several kisses on my brow and his hands in my hair, petting me soothingly. After a while I felt his tail, the unique appendage soothing me further as it rubbed along my back. I stopped crying but continued to cling to him, not wanting to let him go now that we were finally together again. And then he surprised me by barely caressing me behind one of my ears, the touch so light that I flinched. He touched me again, holding me tight to him as I squirmed. When I thought I'd crack he slid his tail away, choosing to favor my other ear now. He chuckled and held me tighter still when I tried to shy away, laughing softly when I finally squealed that it tickled.  
  
"Ah, now that's more like it," he smiled at me, his tail retreating. "If I had my way, you'd do nothing but smile like that."  
  
My smile remained as I looked into his eyes, my heart warming again. "You and that tail are an evil combination, mister," I joked as I slid my right hand into his hair.  
  
"You're just upset that this is twice now that you've had to beg for mercy," he was grinning now, his tail wagging at me in a semi-menacing way.  
  
"Oh, you think I'm upset about that?" I felt my pulse quicken as I recalled our last tickle match. I lightly traced a fingertip over the point of his ear and down the outside edge to the lobe. His shiver wasn't lost on me.  
  
"Are you upset about something else?" He pulled me close again, leaning down when I slid my touch down to his neck and gently pulled him to me.  
  
"Disappointed is more the term." I smiled wickedly when I bypassed his kiss to move my lips to his ear. I ran my fingertips against the grain of his fur and then up into his hair, loosely coiling it between my fingers before whispering, "Shame on you for teasing me like that and then running off."  
  
"It's only teasing if there's no payoff," he argued, his tail curling suggestively around my leg now. "But if you want me to show you what a good teasing is like . . ."  
  
I nearly liquefied as his tenor purred and caressed my ears. "I want more than teasing from you," I shivered. "But there are children in the house."  
  
"Mmm . . ." He sounded disappointed. "Later then, meine schoenen Fuechsin [my beautiful vixen]," his tail uncoiled from around my leg as he moved away a slight bit. "I promise."  
  
His kiss was soft and gentle, his lips lingering on mine for a long moment before parting in response to the invitation my tongue offered. His passion and desire were evident in the way he held me and in the soft moan he emitted when I deepened the kiss even more, pressing my body into his as I ran my hands through his hair. I was moaning now too, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his hands kneading my back as his tongue slid over and around mine. I'm not sure how to describe the difference, but as impassioned as that kiss was, it was nothing like anything I'd experienced with Erich. It didn't feel vulgar or repulsive to me; it didn't leave me feeling used or dirty or violated. Instead I felt enraptured, blissful, and somehow at peace with everything. I felt beautiful. It was as though we'd made love to one another with that kiss.  
  
"Ich liebe dich [I love you]," he spoke softly when we finally broke the kiss, bowing his head so that his forehead rested against mine. His eyes were so soft, so soothing to me in that moment.  
  
"Ich liebe dich, auch [I love you, too]," I was giddy with emotion as I voiced this simple truth. I kissed him again, softly but chastely, before slipping reluctantly from his embrace. "We ought to go back out there," my cheeks flushed.  
  
"I still say we should just toss him a spare pillow and blanket and tell him to watch T.V. for the rest of the night," Nightcrawler grinned wickedly as he rummaged in my fridge for cream.  
  
I laughed as I filled the mugs with coffee. "And Peter wouldn't object to being discarded like that?"  
  
"He's a tough kid, he'll deal," he embraced me from behind, using his tail to pour cream into one of the mugs. "How do you take yours?" he asked when he was finished.  
  
My mind veered off into an adult tangent and I choked down my laugh.  
  
"Your coffee, you lecherous wench," he was laughing too.  
  
"I'll tell you when," I giggled, instructing him on how much to add to my mug. "And where do you get off calling me a lecherous wench when you didn't need directions to get to the gutter my mind fell into?"  
  
"I've tried to behave around you, so I'll forgive you for not knowing I have an engraved plaque down there," he nibbled my ear.  
  
I drew a slow breath and leaned back into him.  
  
"I can send him home," he offered in a throaty whisper.  
  
"I'll think about it," I sighed, turning my head to glance at him. He took the opportunity to kiss me again, his hand coming up to caress my neck. I shivered and made up my mind . . . "There's only one problem."  
  
"Oh? What's that?" He released me and raised an eyebrow, picking up a mug full of coffee when I got the other two.  
  
"I don't know your real name," I smiled as I set a mug down to open the kitchen door. "I think we're past the point of pseudonyms now, don't you?"  
  
"You've got me there, liebchen," he smiled. "My name is Kurt-"  
  
He broke off abruptly as I opened the door into the living room, grabbing me sharply around the waist and teleporting before I could see what caused such an extreme reaction.  
  
"What? What is it?" I breathed as we re-emerged in another part of the kitchen that would give us a clear vantage point of anyone coming in.  
  
"That's exactly the question we've been asking for some time now," a familiar voice answered in English from the other side of the door, behind the group of SS who'd rushed in, automatic rifles and handguns trained on us and ready to fire.  
  
I grew cold even before I saw Erich come into the kitchen, a sickening smirk plastered onto his face. "I'm surprised at you, Miriam. You're so vanilla with me that I never dreamed you were into beastiality."  
  
Kurt's entire body was tensed as he moved between me and Erich, his swords drawn and ready. He said nothing at first, his eyes taking in the number of adversaries in front of us.  
  
"You're standing between me and my property," Erich addressed Kurt with barely contained contempt. "Step aside and I won't order them to kill the boy."  
  
I exhaled sharply when I saw two more SS push their way to the front, holding Peter's limp body in their hands. A third soldier, one of the ones already in the kitchen, drew a handgun and rested the barrel against Peter's temple.  
  
"Go ahead," Kurt's tone was similar to the one he used on me after our botched robbery attempt in the States. "He's a pain in my ass anyway. You'll be doing me a favor."  
  
"Funny. I thought the Sicarii had more loyalty to their own," Erich's lips twitched. He was amused by this, somehow. "You heard it. Kill him."  
  
I gasped when the gun went off, the bullet flying through the room and into the opposite wall. But the shot was not without its price. Peter had sprung to life and managed to somehow slice across the man's wrist as he squeezed off the shot, sending his aim askew. The soldiers holding him were obviously surprised, more so when Peter rounded on them to knife them in their chests.  
  
"Toeten Sie sie beide! Jetzt! [Kill them both! Now!]" Erich shouted the order as he moved out of the confined space to a safer place in my apartment. "Aber nicht das Maedchen! Ich wuensche sie lebendig! [But not the girl! I want her alive!]"  
  
"Get down!" Kurt threw over his shoulder as he engaged the men.  
  
He didn't need to tell me twice. I flattened myself against the floor, crawling towards the table to make myself a harder target to hit, and gaped as I saw them go to work. Peter was quick with his knives, slicing and stabbing at anything that wasn't also wielding blades of some sort. Kurt, meanwhile, was making himself an absurdly hard target to hit by leaping in, attempting a decapitation, landing on the counter, leaping off again in the beginning of a somersault, teleporting, coming out upside down to run someone through, bamf again, almost upright as he cut off a man's arm to protect Peter, bamf, grab someone round the neck with his tail, bamf, one body minus a head hits the floor. A soldier swore loudly as he hit the ground after Peter severed his Achilles tendons, Kurt tag-teaming by landing on him and planting a sword through his heart. Peter returned the favor by slitting a man's throat from behind, Kurt's gone again to impale someone else on his swords.  
  
I suddenly realized why all the Reich was in a panic over Kurt's presence among them. As he finished cutting down the SS around us I realized he was now every inch the demon he looked, a creature dispatched from the deepest pits of Hell to send men to quick but painful deaths. The whole fight had taken what I guessed was one minute, two tops. Peter and Kurt were both breathing hard from the exertion, a half dozen dead men pooling blood at their feet. I shakily crawled partway out from my shelter to relieve the severed arm nearby of its firearm, setting the safety and tucking it into the waistband of my skirt. Before I was done prying the gun from the still- warm fingers, Kurt was heading towards the living room, presumably to go after Erich. Peter glanced back at me and, seeing I was unhurt, hurried after him. I was on his heels, entirely surprised by Kurt's reaction now that Erich was, quite literally, in his grasp.  
  
"Sie undankbar kleines Luder [You ungrateful little bitch]," Erich was pale with fright but still had enough fight in him to spit his venom. He struggled against the hold Kurt had on him. "Ich gab Ihnen ein besseres Leben als jeder moeglicher Jude verdient zu haben [I gave you a better life than any Jew deserves to have], gespeichert Ihnen von einem haesslichen Tod in Westchester [saved you from an ugly death in Westchester], und dieses ist wie Sie mich zurueckerstatten? [and this is how you repay me?]" He gasped when Kurt wrenched his arms more tightly behind him, but still he raged at me. "Indem das Werfen in Ihr Los mit einer Ursache verurteilte zum Ausfallen und zum Geben zu dieser Sache hinter mir? [By throwing in your lot with a cause doomed to failure and giving yourself to this thing behind me?]"  
  
"Fur alles gaben Sie, Sie stahlen viel mehr von mir, [For everything you gave, you stole much more from me]" I answered with shaking hands. "Sie stahlen meine Identitaet, meine Jungfraeulichkeit, und meine Freiheit [You stole my identity, my virginity, and my freedom]." I stared him down, my entire body shaking with rage now, and my heart burning with the words I'd longed to say for nearly a half a year. "Ich bin das Letzte meine Familie wegen der Maennen wie Sie [I'm the last of my family because of men like you]. Ich habe unschuldigen Kindwuerfel wegen ihres Bluts gesehen weil Scheusalen wie Sie uns Tiere anrufen [I've seen innocent children die for the blood in their veins because monsters like you call us animals]. Und wenn ich gleichmaessige weitere Person am Erleiden dieser Beleidgungen hindern kann, [And if I can prevent even one more person from suffering these indignities], dann bilde ich meinen Standplatz mit der SACHE hinter Ihnen und mit allen stellt er dar [then I will make my stand with the THING behind you and with all he represents]."  
  
"Er ist fur dich alles [He's all yours]," Kurt stood tall behind Erich, restraining him seemingly without effort. Peter stood nearby, the only sound as he observed the exchange between us the slow burn of his cigarette; he was watching me curiously.  
  
I fingered the gun at my waist, watching the resignation register in Erich's eyes. Then I let a smile creep across my lips. "Werden Sie Stille interessiert an was ich am Abendessen heute abend dachte? [Are you still interested in what I was thinking at dinner tonight?]" I asked sweetly.  
  
Erich glowered at me but remained silent.  
  
"Mag ich gefallen borge eine Ihrer Klingen, Liebling? [May I please borrow one of your swords, darling?]" I shifted my gaze slightly to Kurt, who nodded grimly and unsheathed one with his tail. My hands were steady now as I took it from him. I noticed absently that he would have to clean them later tonight; the hilt was sticky with drying blood. I let Erich stare down the blade at me for a moment before I wordlessly skewered him with it, feeling a deep satisfaction at seeing my former owner try to not cry out in pain. Kurt had teleported out of the way when I struck, leaving Erich's arms free to help break his fall as he sank down to the floor. He knelt there now, blood bubbling from his lips, hands wrapped loosely around the hilt. I reached forward and withdrew it from his body before ramming it into him again - through his throat this time instead of his stomach.  
  
I'd never killed someone in so intimate a way before. Guns were so impersonal, but this was something entirely different. His blood dripped from the blade as I watched him die, Kurt standing beside me now, his arm wrapped loosely around my waist. There wasn't any dramatic death scene like in the movies, just a gradual fading of life from his eyes before he fell forward and died.  
  
"Don' know bout ye, but I'm a mite uncomfortable tha' no one's come up after these guys," smoke billowed from Peter's mouth as he spoke.  
  
I glanced up at Kurt, who nodded his agreement. "They're probably waiting until we get outside. What doesn't make sense to me is why Heidelmann came here personally."  
  
"He probably wanted to see you for himself." I spontaneously remembered his illegal music collection, which he'd only indulged me with that once. "That, and he liked to take risks. Probably thought he was bulletproof."  
  
"Idiot," Kurt snorted, taking his sword back when I offered it. "But we should get moving now. Peter, you know this city better than I do. Where can we stop on our way home?"  
  
"Yeh 'ave t'see where yer goin' aye?" Peter was moving cautiously to my curtained windows.  
  
"Ja," Kurt answered simply. "With the both of you, the first jump has to be under three quarters of a mile."  
  
"Hmm . . . " He peeked out from behind the curtains. "Bloody 'ell, but there's a lot o' cops down there . . . Th' closest safe house is bout five miles from 'ere, due East an' as th' crow flies."  
  
"I know we aren't safe here, but how do you intend to deal with the Sicarii? They're sure to notice I've gone," I asked quietly.  
  
"Even Marius can' deny we 'ad t'get yeh outta 'ere, gel," Peter smiled wearily. "An' if 'e tries t'give us hell over it, too bloody bad, I say."  
  
"Who's Marius?"  
  
"My boss." Kurt's expression was sour. "He and I need a long talk over this, anyway. I asked about you all over Europe, and none of them said they knew who you were. But he would have been the one to approve you as a source of information."  
  
"You joined the Sicarii?" My mouth hung open as he took my hand in his and Peter's in the other. "But why?"  
  
"I didn't think they were assholes at the time."  
  
BAMF.  
  
My heart jumped into my throat when the eerie void of Kurt's teleportation dissipated into a wall of armed officers sporting riot armor. Before we could even see where we were, they had opened fire on us. Kurt reacted quickly as well, darting us about in a rapid series of jumps that, amusingly enough, encouraged the police to fire on their own. Then he moved us further towards our destination, where we met another group of SS. I noticed now that there were no cars out, no lights on in the houses, no sign of life other than us and the police.  
  
The city was in a lock-down.  
  
"They're tracking us-" BAMF "-we need to go-" BAMF "-somewhere else. Ideas?"  
  
Before Peter could answer Kurt, we were teleporting yet again. As we came out I felt something impact my back, then another impact in my shoulder. I glanced down and saw a dart sticking out of my body.  
  
"Sorry, mate-' BAMF "-not a one fer yeh-"  
  
I was already feeling nauseous from all the 'porting, but whatever they'd shot me with really wasn't helping now. "Kurt?" I managed to get his attention, my vision already swimming. But he'd stopped teleporting despite the many armed men surrounding us. Peter was already out like a light, and Kurt was heaving breath.  
  
"I tried, liebe," he gasped as more gunshots cracked off. He was trying and failing in his attempts to pull the darts out of his body with his tail, as his arms were necessary for keeping him off the ground. The last thing I saw before the poison claimed me was Kurt collapsing onto the pavement. I joined him a split second later.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	23. Nightcrawler

I sighed and rolled over, the sheet moving over my hips as I laid on my side. The bed was soft and warm; the pillow beneath my head smelled faintly of some kind of scented soap. I must have been very tired to not remember returning to Dorian's home; but if I were here with the sunlight warming my body and a peaceful silence surrounding me, things couldn't be too bad. I reached out drowsily with my tail to find Miriam (she was here, surely) but encountered no other bodies besides my own. Hm, must have gotten up to use the bathroom. I yawned leisurely and settled back into the bedding. It felt so good to be somewhere clean and well-kept for a change; I intended to enjoy it for as long as I could.  
  
I woke up again when I felt someone playing with my hair. I smiled slowly and reached up my tail to lightly caress her hand. "Guten morgen, liebchen," I murmured, assuming it was still before noon. "Wie gehts ["How are you" - informal]?"  
  
"I'm good. Did you sleep well?" Miriam's voice sounded a little funny, a bit deeper than normal. Had she caught a cold on the ride back across the Atlantic?  
  
"Ja," I shifted again. "I'm not ready to get up, though. Why don't you come back to bed, Miri?" Miri? I'd never used a nickname with her before, but she didn't seem to mind. She slid into bed behind me, spooning me so that her left arm was around my middle and her breath was on my bare shoulder. "Mmm, you feel good . . ." I wrapped my tail around her leg. Oh, she was already dressed! Ambitious woman, already prepared to take on the day . . . I leaned back into her and smiled a little wider.  
  
"We've certainly been through a lot lately, haven't we?" she asked as she played with my fur.  
  
"Mmm-hmm," I agreed. "But it's over now."  
  
"What about the Sicarii?"  
  
"Ach," I sighed. I still had to deal with Marius, apparently. But what had happened? How did we end up back in New York? Were we on the run from them? I'd figure it out later after I had a cup of coffee. "Peter and I will deal with them later, don't worry about it."  
  
"How did you join them, anyway?" She laid her cheek against my shoulder.  
  
"Someone on the Ghost told me they'd help me find you." My eyes were still closed as I spoke. "So when I got to Madrid I ran into Peter and his brother, and they took me to the head guy there."  
  
"What's the Ghost?"  
  
"Johnny's Ghost. It was the submarine I crossed to Europe on."  
  
"Oh, okay." She traced small circles over my stomach. "And they just let you in?"  
  
"Nein, I had to do a job for them first." I shrugged. "After that I was in, had to take another job to get to Berlin, though."  
  
"What job was that?" She kissed my shoulder softly, her lips moving slowly down to my arm.  
  
"Escorted refugees on their way to Siberia." I yawned and took her hand in mine. "They figured that if I was going to be going that way, I ought to be doing something for them."  
  
"Makes sense," she slid her hand out from under mine, back up to my side, and to the waistband of my pajama pants. "And they knew where I was, hm?"  
  
"You know they knew; they just didn't tell me. I got a lead on you through someone I met in a bar." I started in surprise when her hand moved to another part of my anatomy.  
  
"Anyone I'd know?" She was teasing me through the fabric, distracting me from answering. "Well?" her voice held laughter as she touched me.  
  
"Singer named Christopher," I whispered, thoroughly enjoying what she was doing. I moved to roll over so I could see her as she seduced me.  
  
"No, not yet," she kissed my shoulder again, her actions eliciting a moan from me. "Chris told you where to find me? I didn't realize he knew where I lived."  
  
"He didn't." I moved myself into her hand. "Gave me his address so I could find you. Was someone else in the group who told me where to find you."  
  
"Who told you?"  
  
Her touch was more firm, the rhythm of it driving me insane. I shivered in delight and used my tail to touch her the way I had only once before, earning a surprised gasp from her. "A priestess there," I answered after I heard her sigh happily.  
  
"Your priestess?" She lightened her touch to keep me teetering on the edge.  
  
My heart pounded in my ears and I sped up my own pace in retaliation. "Nein, not Magdalena. That one's name is Suzanne."  
  
Miriam pressed against me as my tail worked on her. She danced her fingertips over me again, and her voice was almost as labored as mine now. "What's Magdalena like? Is she nice?"  
  
"I don't want to think about her right now," I whispered as a wave of guilt passed over me.  
  
"What do you want to think about?" her throaty whisper floated across my ear.  
  
"Making you come again." I was rewarded with her noises of pleasure and a renewed interest in my own anatomy.  
  
"Race you for it," she slid her hand inside my clothing, nuzzling her face in my shoulder as I pulled out the last stops in response to her challenge.  
  
Moments later we were both sated and lying together, Miriam still spooning me as we basked in the afterglow. She'd brought me there first, which meant she'd won . . . but with that kind of a contest, there really wasn't any losing, was there? I took her hand in mine again, leading it to my lips so I could kiss her fingers as I voiced my affections. This was so nice, this was how life should be . . . I moaned in protest when she moved away later, the shifting of the bed rousing me out of my light sleep.  
  
"Go back to sleep, honey," she murmured and kissed my temple. "Peter's waiting for me."  
  
"Okay," I yawned. "Save me some coffee."  
  
"I will." She tousled my hair before leaving. After the door clicked shut behind her I settled into my pillow and dropped back off to sleep.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I was very groggy when I woke again later. I forced my eyes open and found a needle in my arm, which was attached to an IV drip nearby. I blinked in confusion and looked around to find where the beeping in the room was coming from. It was a heart monitor, the cuff wrapped around my bicep.  
  
"Was zum Teufel [What the Hell] . . . ?" The room wasn't the one I'd stayed in the last time I was here, although it was still furnished very nicely. I saw sunlight shine on polished wooden floors, and looked over the edge of the bed to see a rug waiting for me if I chose to get up. The bedroom suite was made of some sort of dark wood, mahogany I guessed. The door to my left was closed, a woman standing nearby. I didn't recognize her, which had me worried. I tried to remember how I'd gotten to America again, what happened between here and Berlin, and found I could not. Adrenaline surged through me and I moved to sit up.  
  
"No!" she rushed over, gently pushing me back down. "You'll make yourself sick again. Please, lie down, Kurt."  
  
How did she know my given name? I'd only ever told Miriam . . . And how was I sick? I was just tired. I pushed back up against her hands, trying to sit up. "Who are you?" I demanded even as my vision began to blur. I caught a flicker in my peripheral vision - a doctor, from the looks of him.  
  
"Do as Elizabeth asks, sir. You are lucky to be awake at this point. Please, don't jeopardize your health." The doctor stood on my other side, a clipboard in his hands.  
  
"Where am I?" My head was swimming and the rest of me didn't feel too good either. I surrendered to the pressure of Elizabeth's hands, allowing myself to sink back into the mattress.  
  
"You're safe here, Kurt. As Doctor Fitzgerald says, your health is rather precarious at the moment. Just take it easy for a while, okay?"  
  
Elizabeth's voice was familiar to me, although I couldn't place it at the time. I squinted to see her more clearly. "What happened to me?"  
  
"You don't remember?" She sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes full of concern.  
  
"I . . ." I took a deep breath. I remembered fooling around with Miriam this morning, but perhaps that had been some sort of hallucination. If I were unwell, she wouldn't do something like that. Before that . . . Mein Gott! "Miriam! Where's Miriam??"  
  
"Miriam is okay. She's recovering in another room. What do you remember, Kurt?"  
  
"We went to fetch her, but Heidelmann showed up with armed men. We killed them all and got away . . ." The rest was a blur. Snatches of memory teased me, something about the police, and they had been shooting at us. "I don't remember anything past the shooting. We were heading for the safe house." I blinked to clear my vision and failed miserably.  
  
Elizabeth patted my hand kindly. "We heard there was some sort of commotion downtown, so we sent out a few scouts. You're fortunate they found you when they did and brought you here. Are you based in the Berlin headquarters?"  
  
"Why?" I narrowed my eyes further, a warning bell ringing distantly somewhere inside me. I knew Elizabeth from somewhere, I just knew it. What I didn't know was if she was on our side or not.  
  
"Surely they should know that you and your friends are injured," Doctor Fitzgerald answered for her. "We should send them word of your condition."  
  
"The nearest Cabal will know where I am from," I answered evasively. "They can tell whoever needs to be told."  
  
Elizabeth and the doctor exchanged glances over my head. I tried to snatch the clipboard out of his hands with my tail to see what was on it, but my tail was strangely uncooperative. Instead of striking out precisely as it normally would, I watched it move in slow motion before dropping limply off the edge of the bed. Concerned, I raised my hand in front of my face and found that the action was tougher than it should have been. My entire arm felt like lead and as I let my arm drop back down I saw echoes of it trail eerily after it.  
  
"What is your surname, Kurt?" Doctor Fitzgerald had a pen hovering over the clipboard now.  
  
I didn't like this. "Kurt is just fine, Herr Doktor."  
  
"For your file, that's all. Come now, what's your name?"  
  
I closed my eyes and said instead, "You don't need me on all this stuff. Leave me alone and I'll get better, whatever is wrong with me. I'm sure there are others who need the medicine more than I do."  
  
"The darts they hit you with were pretty strong," Elizabeth said from far away. "We want to make sure you'll be fine, so let us help you."  
  
"Do you have any allergies, Kurt?" the doctor asked now.  
  
"Ja. Stupidity," I growled. "Just go away."  
  
"We'll stay with penicillin," his pen scratched on the paper. "Have you had any surgeries or operations in the past?"  
  
Did the time I pissed Logan off and he almost took out my appendix without anesthesia count? I sighed, feeling myself beginning to fall asleep again. It would be nice if they stopped pestering me over dumme Zeuge [stupid stuff]. "If I tell you my last name, will you go away and let me sleep?" I figured that since they knew my first name, my last name wouldn't hurt anything.  
  
"I suppose," the doctor sighed.  
  
"Darkhoelme."  
  
"How do you spell-"  
  
"D-a-r-k-h-o-umlaut*-l-m-e." My eyes snapped open when I felt a needle go into my other arm a moment later.  
  
"I'm just going to run some tests, that's all," Doctor Fitzgerald finished extracting my blood, backing away hastily with the large vial when he saw that I was upset enough to try to move again. He hadn't finished filling it; and while I would have been more satisfied to see the vial smashed to the floor and rendered useless, it was still marginally pleasing to know that he wouldn't get the full sample. He left the room without another word, and Elizabeth followed him after telling me to go back to sleep.  
  
I closed my eyes and drifted off again.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Reality returned to me in hazy half-dreams after that. The doctor was there sometimes, but always it was Elizabeth. She sat and talked with me, patting my hand or petting my hair as though she were my mother. In fact, during one of the visits when I was quite delirious, I might have even called her Mutti [Mom or Mommy]. I don't remember now. I don't remember what she asked exactly, but she seemed very interested in what I did for the Sicarii. I was too tired to be alarmed and spilled out words as though they were water. I asked to see Miriam but there was always some reason why I couldn't - usually it was my health, or hers, or both. I was disappointed. I missed her, and deep inside I was worried. Not that I could muster the strength necessary to do anything to find her. I still couldn't move my limbs easily, my vision was constantly impaired, and my hearing seemed to echo.  
  
I wanted to sleep a lot.  
  
I was settling down to sleep again, looking forward to the soft bed and the warm covers and the quiet interrupted only by that persistent beeping that never went away. What was it, anyway? I thought I'd known at one time, but I forgot it now. It couldn't be that important. I rolled over and began to drift off. I dreamed I was in Antarctica again, somewhere between the ferry and Avalon itself. I drowsily flexed my fingers and toes to warm them back up, but it wasn't working. The wind was picking up now, driving snow in under my cowl so that it melted on my skin and froze into my fur. Some gadget of Mom's was beeping at us from within the crates Cain was carrying and I resisted the urge to break them open and smash the contents - Mom would be pissed with me if I made it harder to get the guns to Avalon. We trudged on through the ice and snow, none of us exchanging words. They would have only gotten in the way. I sighed, depressed to see everything in shades of grey no matter where I looked. At least it didn't stink like America did . . . the frigid air here was clean. As I thought about the States I remembered something Dad told me once.  
  
"Why do I bother with this?" Dad's voice drifted into my mind. I had been barely eighteen, a fresh recruit to Magneto's cause, and decided to chance getting to know the old man again. "Because we're in Hell. Stayin' here's a choice, but it ain't my choice. Me, I'm on the road outta here. We all are. But don't go gettin' any ideas that you signed on for somethin' easy, boy. The way in mighta been right pretty, but it's a long, hard road outta Hell, an yer road might only come out with that Reaper ta meet ya. Don't ever forget that."  
  
Gradually scents and colors came back, and instead of walking through frozen ground we were slopping through mud. It was gorgeous! Even Mom was smiling, and she never smiled anymore. If I hadn't been so self-conscious I might have started dancing and bellowing out something approximating a song. But that was foolish, these people would think me mad, so I just stood there and took in deep breaths of grass and flowers and animals and cooking fires; let the wind sweep over me with warm air. Oh, it felt so good . . . I unclasped my cloak and let it fall to the soft grass at my feet, my mostly black clothing soaking up the rays of the sun and warming my body again. As Cain set the crates down to welcome us to Avalon, I let my smile split into a full grin - the batteries must have run out because the beeping had finally, mercifully, stopped altogether.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
* An umlaut is those two little dots above letters - to approximate the sound without it (in German, at least), add an "e" after the vowel that's supposed to have it. 


	24. Miriam

I came to gradually, my senses hazy around the edges. Everything seemed disjointed, disconnected, like a waking dream. I eventually worked out my situation. I was lying on a rough stone floor, my hands and feet bound in tight coils of rope, my body tingling with cold and the residual effects of the tranquilizer darts. I struggled to sit up and finally managed it, propping myself up on the jagged edges of the stone walls. The entire place was dark, and it smelled of water and earth. Was I in some sort of cave?  
  
I couldn't tell how much time passed between my waking and the arrival of the first men. They shelved their torches in sconces on the wall, showing me that I was in what appeared to be a dungeon. I recognized the men as some of Erich's personal guards, the ones who guarded his home. There were three of them; they looked me over quickly before speaking amongst themselves.  
  
"I say we do it after we're done," one of them continued a conversation I hadn't been privy to before.  
  
"Yes, I agree," a second one nodded. "I like them pretty."  
  
I had no idea what they were talking about doing to me, but whatever it was wasn't likely to be pleasant. I kept my mouth shut when the first one came closer, a wicked-looking knife in his hands. He made like he was going to cut me free but then he dragged the flat of the blade over my face, the pointed tip scratching my cheeks. Then he cut my feet loose. Fear shot through me when the knife cut through my dress, slowly tearing away the material to reveal my flesh beneath. He put on a show of it, taking his time as he cut away my undergarments, earning the appreciatively vulgar comments of his comrades. I knew now what they were going to do with me, and at the insistence of one of the others the first one went to work. They weren't at all gentle with me and used my body in hurtful and unnatural ways that eventually had me crying out in pain. They kept going, competing with one another to see who could make me scream the loudest. They eventually tired of their sport, or perhaps the arrival of the second group of men was a signal that their playtime was at an end. I huddled into myself.  
  
"Pick her up," one of the new arrivals instructed, and I was hoisted to my feet by two of my rapists. The third one bent my head forward and held my hair off my neck as instructed by his superior.  
  
"She doesn't have the mark," the one holding my hair up declared. Through my pain I wondered what mark they were talking about.  
  
"How about it, Miriam?" the man giving orders addressed me. "Are you a Sicarii like the other two?"  
  
My stomach lurched at the realization that we'd all been captured. I pushed my concern about Kurt's and Peter's health from my mind, my defiance my only defense. "Kiss my ass," I spat at the ground.  
  
"I'll enjoy breaking you," the man purred. Then, to one of my captors, "See if she has an implant."  
  
I gasped when the knife cut open my neck, the blade probing around inside the newly created wound. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood as he searched, finally prying loose the tracker.  
  
"Oh, yeah," he sounded pleased. "Look what I found."  
  
"How long have you been spying for them?"  
  
I was forced to look up at the man, someone's fingers knotted in my hair to pull my head up. "Wouldn't you like to know?" I sneered with as much contempt as I could manage.  
  
"The Uebermensch [Superman] came over on a smuggler's vessel," a female voice sneered back from the shadows. "Odds are she was a rebel in the States before she joined them here." Elizabeth stepped forward; her Ice Queen persona would have cowered in fear of who she'd become. "Pry every bit of information out of her by whatever means necessary. Same goes for the boy."  
  
"And the Uebermensch?" the man in charge of my torture asked.  
  
"I'll handle him personally," she grinned coldly at me as she spoke. "Nicholas Cruxhaven, is it?" Judging from the way her grin grew even wider, I must have given away that I was rattled. "Or perhaps it's Kurt . . . Yes, I do believe his name is Kurt. Isn't that what you called him, Miriam?"  
  
I kept my mouth shut.  
  
"What's his surname?"  
  
"Haven't got a clue," I answered truthfully.  
  
She walked over to me, her long fingernails dancing across my face as though they were talons. "What's his name?"  
  
"Kurt Gofugerself," I answered before spitting in her face.  
  
She slapped me hard across the face, then once more on the other cheek. Then, to the waiting men, "Make me proud."  
  
She walked away, exiting the dungeon with determined steps. Once the heavy door slammed shut behind her I saw the leading man begin to smile himself. "String her up," he instructed, and I was in short order bound by my still- tied hands to some of the chains suspended from the ceiling, my toes barely touching the ground. I was blindfolded so that I couldn't see what they were going to do with me next - a mental game designed to enhance my fear - and I heard them take down various implements from the surrounding walls.  
  
"What information from the Ministry did you give the Sicarii?" the man asked as I felt cold stiff strips of something brush over my bare back.  
  
"I'm not telling you anything," I tried to remain calm. I couldn't let myself give in to my fear. I was too proud for that. The strips lifted off my flesh and came down hard, biting into my back painfully. Another lash, then another . . . it was a whip of some sort. I concentrated on breathing deeply so that I wouldn't cry out again.  
  
After about a dozen of the blows he spoke. "It'll go much easier for you if you talk."  
  
"Bite me."  
  
The leather cracked loudly on my back, my skin already growing hot as the blood came to the surface. The beating continued for several minutes; it wasn't long before I felt blood running down my spine. I struggled to breathe on my own terms, several of my exhalations jolted out of me by the whip. I was lightheaded when it stopped again.  
  
"Come now, Miriam. I've been told you're reasonably intelligent for a Jew. Talk to me, and we won't hurt you again."  
  
"No." I let myself hang limply by the chains; no sense expending my energy to maintain an intentionally precarious connection to the floor. The next thing I felt was agonizing. My back felt like it was blistering as someone rubbed salt into my open wounds. Despite myself, I screamed in pain.  
  
"How did you meet Kurt?"  
  
I flipped him off with both hands from above my head.  
  
I screamed when they salted me again.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The torture went on for days, weeks maybe. I can't recall now all that happened to me. I remember that they whipped me again at some point. I was beaten without weapons - my ribs broke on my right side when someone kicked the hell out of me after I fell to the ground. I was sexually brutalized over and over again. They used the salt on me a lot. They seemed particularly fond of that one, to the point of hosing me down so they could start fresh. I was their ashtray when they smoked their cigarettes. I was the recipient of other types of burning; before they left me for the night (Morning? Afternoon?) they would cauterize my wounds with clothes irons so that I wouldn't bleed to death.  
  
How I managed to keep my spirit from breaking the way my body had is beyond me. After each round of pain-inducing activity I would be questioned. How long had I been fighting against the Nazis? Where had Kurt come from? How could he do the extraordinary things he did? Which of the three of us killed Erich Heidelmann? Where did the Sicarii base themselves out of? Who was the boy? Who did I give my information to? I always refused to answer their questions, choosing instead to either remain mute or, when I had the energy for it, yell for them to have sex with themselves or something else equally obscene and rebellious. These outbursts always resulted in more pain, but knowing that my stubbornness was frustrating to them kept me going somehow. They had to have been desperate for information to keep me alive this long. The longer I held out, my delirious mind reasoned, the harder it would be for the government to subdue the dissent in their empire. At the end, when I was so hungry that I felt like I was hollowed out on the inside and so thirsty that I thought I'd surely turn to dust the way vampires do when encountering sunlight, I managed a sandpaper laugh in the dark and silence of my prison after the doors closed behind them once more.  
  
Even when I was left alone to rest for a few hours, I was kept blindfolded and chained in such a way that I couldn't remove the fabric with my hands or anything else in my reach. In the absence of my eyesight my hearing seemed to become more keen; but even so it wasn't until they finally removed the blindfold that I realized the new noises were the sounds of carts wheeling across the cobbles of the floor. My eyes slowly adjusted to the light and I saw before me the cart, which bore a television.  
  
What new torture was this? Were they going to hold my eyes open and make me watch soap operas?  
  
My silent quip didn't make me feel better; quite the opposite. I suspected that I wouldn't want to watch whatever programming they had for me. I watched as my captors worked in silence, connecting cables and running power lines before they turned the unit on and the volume up. The sight that met my eyes made me sit up as straight as I could.  
  
I was looking at Kurt.  
  
He was lying in a rather comfortable looking bed, seemingly asleep. I traced the lines that ran from his arms up to bags suspended by metal hooks, noted the care that had been put into tucking him neatly into the bed. A heart monitor beeped at regular intervals, the only soundtrack to this weird showing. He didn't show signs of abuse - no lacerations or bruises (not that I was sure I would be able to see them because of his coloring), no limbs lying at odd angles. He simply seemed to be asleep and nothing more. He shifted slightly, eyes still closed, his tail sliding out from under the covers to twitch in time with some unknown beat. I watched as his left hand slid from the top of his stomach to lie limply next to him.  
  
If I'd been able, I might have cried at seeing him like this. I couldn't imagine that he'd complacently allow them to put him in a medical facility like this. Was he sedated? It was all I could think of to explain it.  
  
A door opened off-camera and the sound of heels clicking on the wood competed with the beeping that marked Kurt's heartbeat. My breath hitched when I saw Elizabeth sit down in the chair next to the bed, her hands gently brushing through his curls. She was smiling serenely, her head tilted as she studied his sleeping form. A set of hands attached to arms clad in the white of a doctor manipulated one of the bags that fed into his veins, adding something to the mixture. Kurt's eyes fluttered open a few minutes later; he blinked groggily and looked up at Elizabeth.  
  
"Good morning, Kurt. Did you sleep well?" she asked pleasantly.  
  
"Still sleepy," he mumbled, closing his eyes and trying to roll over and away from her - which would have him facing me. "M'gonna go backa sleep," he slurred.  
  
Elizabeth continued raking her fingers through his hair as he turned away from her. "It's time to wake up, Kurt."  
  
"Mmm . . ." he moaned, smiling a little. "Feels good, like that."  
  
She smiled a little wider, her expression one that would be appropriate when dealing with a small child or a beloved pet. "I want you to tell me again about your friends, Kurt."  
  
"Not m'friends," the words stumbled from his lips. "Tol' you already."  
  
"But they must be worried about you by now," she continued gently. "If you tell me where to find them, I'll bring them to see you."  
  
Kurt's face bunched into a petulant pout. "Don' w'nna see th'm. W'nna see Mir'am."  
  
My heart clenched painfully in my chest. The grit in my throat rubbed against itself as I struggled to not sob - they were watching me watching him, and I wasn't going to give them that satisfaction.  
  
"You really love Miriam, huh?"  
  
"Mmm-hmm . . . " He smiled again, nestling into the pillow. "L've 'er."  
  
"Why?" Elizabeth's fingers were playing with one curl in particular now, her eyes sweeping over his bare shoulders and back.  
  
"Engle [Angel]," his voice was almost whispering. "Sh's n'ce t'me, alw'ys."  
  
"But you're a German, aren't you?"  
  
"Nein," he shifted the pillow beneath him. "L'ng time 'go, b'fore 'poc'lypse won."  
  
Her eyes grew wide - I supposed this was new information to her. "Who is Poclypse?"  
  
"Y'know, 'poc'lypse." His tone indicated that in his drug-addled mind, it was absurd that someone wouldn't know who Apocalypse was. "No m're Ger'm'ny, all part of 'mpire now. But I wouldn' join."  
  
"What did you do, then?"  
  
"Wh't's called in Engl'sh? Expatriate?" He squeezed his eyes shut as though he were thinking hard. "Wen' t'Magn's." He yawned widely before settling into his pillow again. "B'came 'n X-M'n." He yawned again.  
  
"And you fought Poclypse with Magnas?" she mispronounced the name.  
  
"Mmmmm. . . " He moaned, irritated. "Talk t'you l'ter. 'M sleepy. Go 'way s'I c'n sleep."  
  
She leaned back and let him drift off, waiting until he was snoring before addressing someone I couldn't see in the monitor. "You have all the samples you need?"  
  
"Yes," a man's voice answered unseen. "If we need anything else, we can get it post-mortem, if you're ready."  
  
I felt my eyes go wide in horror. My God, they weren't going to execute him in front of me, were they?? Oh please God no, not Kurt, please . . .  
  
"He's just rambling nonsense now," Elizabeth sighed, glancing back at Kurt. "It's time. But I want the vial. An eye for an eye, you know."  
  
If my hands had been free, they'd have been pressed against my mouth to keep me from screaming. As it was, my mouth was working soundlessly in the face of this grim and clinical finality. I trembled as I watched Elizabeth insert a large vial of some sort of drug into the IV, depressing the plunger to push it forward and into his bloodstream. She walked off-camera; a door whispered open and back shut again, clicking as the latch caught. I prayed feverishly that he had something in his mutation to fight off the drugs, watching with mounting terror as it happened. The beeping in the background gradually slowed, as did the rhythm of his shoulder as he slept on his side. His snoring faded after a time, and the beeping of the monitor was very slow now. I counted between beats, feebly grasping at the desperately persistent hope that this was a sick joke, something he'd snap out of at any second. Thirty seconds between beats . . . forty seconds . . . forty-five . . . I clutched frantically at my faith when I heard the monitor beep rapidly, almost spastically, a few times.  
  
My broken ribs jabbed into my lungs when I started weeping, my sobs coming out more like forced and raspy barks. They finally broke me, my spirit and my mind snapping when the beeping came again and did not stop.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
This is not the end, True Believers! Just the end of this part, which I have decided will be the first of three. Keep an eye out for Dead Run, the second installment in the X-Calibre trilogy. I will answer all reviews that aren't addressed here when I post again under that title.  
  
Ncsgirl: Coolness points to you! Yes, it's the Litany Against Fear from Dune. I'm glad someone got it. I'm sure you're just the first person to say it. *grin* I understand about exams, but what happened to your hands? Are you okay? They were tranquilizer darts, yes. Will the Sicarii come to the rescue? Not exactly. *cough* I hate doing this to my readers, but you'll see. And no, as I stated above, this is not the end of the larger story. Just the end of Part One.  
  
I know someone will ask why I'm breaking it up into parts, so I'll say it now: The point of view will be changing after this. Dead Run will be told from two points of view, but neither of them will be Kurt's or Miriam's. Part three will be told from yet other points of view, and I figured it would be less awkward if I just made them separate stories.  
  
I really appreciate all of you guys who read Long Hard Road, not just the ones who reviewed. Creating art is fine and well, but it only comes to life when someone stops to look it over. Y'all are wonderful. Thanks again! *bows* 


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